


Penguins in New York making nests

by Songstone



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Past Bucky/OFC, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 74,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songstone/pseuds/Songstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's life has changed a lot in the eight years that he's spent away from Brooklyn. In Russia he had found love and lived a happy life, until tragedy stole his wife from him. Now, with a three-year-old daughter to care for on his own, Bucky makes the decision to get back to his roots in the hopes of building a better future for his child. </p><p>Our story finds him adjusting to his life in Brooklyn. Life seems to be going well - until it gets better. Steve Rogers re-entering Bucky's life is just the right kind of surprise. There is a new found attraction between the two that is near-immediate, and the possibility of a happy relationship is there. Bucky isn't about to ignore it, especially when Steve makes it known that he very much adores Bucky's ballet dancing, penguin-obsessed , daughter and wants to include her in his life as well.</p><p>However, feeling abandoned after Bucky took Vanya to the US, Aleksander Lukin - Vanya's Grandfather - wants her back in Russia and will stop at nothing to see her 'home' again. In the midst of an international custody battle that holds the possibility of beginning another World War, Bucky needs to keep his wits about him and keep his family together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the 2014 Steve/Bucky Big Bang! It's my first Big Bang project. Ever. I was very nervous when I signed up, but I was excited about the idea of writing something of a longer length, since I haven't really written anything story-wise in years. This journey was a roller coaster! I'm glad that it's over at the same time that I'm sad that it's over...it's a complicated relationship.
> 
> I feel like I should apologize in advance: I am not a person who generally gets into politics, or knows very many laws. If there are any mistakes in the story that deal with American or Russian law, then I am so sorry! I tried my best!
> 
> My artist for this Big Bang is lamoneta. You can visit their blog on tumblr, under that name. Their art for this story can be found following this link: http://lamoneta.tumblr.com/post/103262828196/my-art-for-songstone-story-penguins-in-new-york 
> 
> They are amazing, and I loved working with them for my first Big Bang. :) Thank you, dear, it was awesome! :)
> 
> And now to me, giving thanks.
> 
> To Mike: Thank you so much for convincing me to sign up for this in the first place! I love you so much, and I'm grateful for all of the help you offered me throughout this entire process! I did it!
> 
> To Skye: You had my back this whole time, and I'm so grateful to you for that! Thank you for cheering me on while I panicked and cried and whatnot.
> 
> To Crissy: You rock. Thank you for letting me vent to you about my story, and thank you for your encouraging words! They helped me so much!
> 
> Any mistakes are my own, as I had no beta. :)
> 
> Please enjoy the story!

**Prologue**

**Международный Аэропорт Шереме́тьево (Sheremetyevo International Airport)**

**Москва, Россия (Moscow, Russia)**

The airport is alive with sound and scenery. There are businessmen rushing for their gates with cell phones pressed to their ears, having conversations loud enough for almost anyone to hear. Families are dragging along stubborn children and heavy rolling backpacks as they rush to catch their planes. It isn’t even daylight outside, yet, so there are plenty of people that are yawning or rubbing their eyes, exhausted and anxious to get on their planes and hopefully catch at least two hours of sleep on their trips. That’s the story for James Barnes, in any case. He’s tired, eyes red-rimmed and at half-mast. He hasn’t shaved in three days thanks to the chaos moving internationally has created for him, and he has several questionable food stains on his shirt that not even his jacket can completely hide from the world. He looks ragged and beaten down, standing in the middle of the airport with a humble duffle bag at his feet, a stuffed bear in one hand, and a little girl of three years old with braided dark hair sleeping on one of his shoulders. James cradles her close. The child is inert and entirely oblivious to the goings on inside of that bustling building as she dozed peacefully against him. She's breathing softly and sweetly against James’ neck, and he's able to smell her shampoo when he turns to kiss her on her forehead.

Across from James stands a tall man in a black suit, eyes blue and hair gray at the temples, the rest as black as the oil that his company sells. The man’s name is Aleksander Lukin, CEO of one of Russia’s most powerful oil companies, and he’s standing across from James Barnes in the middle of one of Moscow's international airports because the little girl sleeping on James’ shoulder is Aleksander’s granddaughter.

“ _You shouldn’t be doing this._ ” Lukin is saying in a hurried voice. “ _You shouldn’t be leaving._ ”

“ _I don’t want to have this discussion again._ ” James says. “ _It’s too late for that. Besides, I already told you that I had made up my mind. There’s nothing keeping me here in Russia anymore, Aleksander. I’m sorry._ ” He shifts from one foot to another, his grip on the little girl in his arms never faltering.

 

Lukin shakes his head. His brows are pulled down and he has his hands on his hips, looking the very definition of someone in disbelief as he considers the man holding his granddaughter. “James,” He says, clearly vexed. “ _You can’t take her from the only home she’s known. You can’t throw her into a new environment where she won’t even understand what people around her are saying. Vanya belongs here. Just like you._ ”

“ _I don’t belong here. Not anymore._ ” James insists with a stubborn incline of his head. He looks weary more than he looks angry, but his blue eyes are bright with a ferocious adamancy as he regards Lukin from under heavy eyelids. “ _Vanya belongs with me, with her family_ \- ”

“ _I am her family._ ” Lukin hisses. His mouth is twisted in a severe frown and his face is darkening with color the more he pleads his case in vain. “ _I’m just as much her family as you are, James. You can’t take her away from me. She’s the only blood that I have left after Daria._ ” James flinches at the name, but Lukin doesn’t bother to look remorseful. “ _Taking her from me is wrong. Is she going to grow up without knowing her grandfather? Do you want her to just forget all that she’s ever known so that you can try to make a life in a country that you’ve become a stranger to?_ ”

“ _Enough._ ” James snaps. He’s tired - both physically and emotionally. He doesn’t want to stand around in the middle of the airport just to argue over something that cannot be changed. He shakes his head at Lukin, who stares at him in wounded outrage. “ _You will always be her grandfather. No amount of distance will ever change that, and that isn’t what I’m trying to do at all. But the fact of the matter is, Vanya is my daughter. My responsibility. I can’t live off of your generosity forever, and although I’m grateful for everything - truly, I am - I want to go somewhere where I can provide for my daughter on my own._ ” He stands unwavering before Lukin as the man starts to run his hand through his hair and pace. “ _I’m not keeping her from you. Far from it. If you want to be in Vanya’s life, Aleksander, then come and visit her every other weekend, or once a month. You have money; your own plane. Come and see your granddaughter. I won’t turn you away._ ” James glances sidelong at his daughter, watching her as she sleeps on, unaware of the arguments and farewells being exchanged between her father and grandfather. When he looks back at Aleksander, he finds that the man has calmed himself enough to stop marching from one side to another like a caged animal.

The pain that James sees in Aleksander’s eyes, then, is a pain that he recognizes well. There is absolute misery in those blue spheres, and James has to remind himself that he already has a small apartment back in New York waiting for him and his daughter in order to prevent himself from putting the journey off for yet another month. He had been stalling long enough. It’s time to follow through with plans that had been made long before his daughter was even born. He has no ties to Russia, anymore. He has no apartment, no job - he doesn’t even have the Mother of his child besides him. It‘s time to start a new chapter in his life. Time to find a good job so that he can start providing for Vanya on his own, in a country where he can more easily help her find a path to walk in her life and hopefully pave the way for her.

“ _James,_ ” Aleksander says, his voice a plea. He shakes his head again, slower, and the pain and loss in his eyes is almost too much to bear looking at. He says nothing else, just continues shaking his head mutely, seemingly begging with his eyes and posture alone. It wasn’t going to be enough.

“ _I’ll write as soon as I can._ ” James says. He swallows heavily, nods, and then bends carefully down in order to grab his duffle bag - Lukin is besides him in half a second, aiding him in retrieving the bag from the floor and handing it over somberly.

“ _Let me just…_ ” Lukin says, and James hesitates before he slowly nods and turns his body just so, allowing Lukin to see Vanya as she sleeps on his shoulder. Aleksander watches the little girl morosely for a moment, then sighs and steps closer in order to gently stroke her hair, playing with one braid between his fingers. “ _I love you, my little Princess._ ” Lukin says to Vanya in a kind murmur. He lowers his head and kisses her softly on her temple before he adds, “ _I promise to see you soon._ ” When Lukin pulls away, it’s to straighten up and clear his throat. He raises his chin, jaw set, but James sees the hurt in his eyes. James also sees anger - anger and something even darker. Hatred, he considers. He doesn’t get the chance to puzzle it out. Lukin pats him on his arm and gestures to the line for boarding that has formed during their confrontation. His eyes looked wet, and he seems to be holding back his emotions. “Looks like you ought to be on your way.”

James nods. He can’t offer his hand to shake, as full as they are, so instead he simply repeats his words from before. “ _You’re more than welcome to come and visit us._ ” He begins to back away. He needs to be in that line. “ _Thank you for everything, Aleksander._ ” And then he turns away, striding towards the line that will allow him to board his plane.

James leaves Russia within the next half hour. He leaves Lukin standing alone in the airport as their plane glides smoothly skyward. The first forty-five minutes of their ten hour plane ride are spent restlessly as James tries to calm his crying child (Vanya had woken up rather uncomfortable and upset by the tilt and sound of the plane). He cradles Vanya very close when they level out again, and shushes her gently while he rubs her back. He tells her that the pressure in her ears will soon go away. When she’s quiet again, James hands her the stuffed bear that he has toted along for her and begins to tell her stories to keep her occupied, as their usual routine demands. This time, instead of reciting fairy tales, James quietly speaks of a place that he had loved when he had been very small. Somewhere he promises to take her to once they’re happily settled in their new home.

Vanya seems to like the idea of Coney Island very much, and falls asleep with a smile as James describes a ride called _The Cyclone._

**i**

**Brooklyn, New York**

**Seven months later**

The laundromat is busy, but then, it always seems to be. It’s noon, a time where most people should be at work or school and therefore unable to go out and wash their clothes, but James has to remind himself for the hundredth time that this is New York. This is Brooklyn. Laundromats being busy during the day is natural, so he shouldn’t find time to complain. At least there aren’t a lot of people, just a lot of clothes. There are only a few dryers open, all of the washing machines are in use, and counter space to fold clothes on is scarce and all but nonexistent. He’s lucky that he got two out of three of his loads of laundry done within minutes of each other, otherwise he might have ended up camping out there for another hour and forty-five minutes.

James is tired  He’s had a long and exhausting eight hours down at the docks where he works, and he's anxious to finish this weekly chore and call it a day. He’s been up since two in the morning, getting showered and dressed and arranging for a babysitter for Vanya. He could go for an afternoon nap with his favorite girl, he thinks, once they're home and together again. James often times finds the shifting hours of his job inconvenient, but when he gets his paycheck, the numbers helped console him - the job that he has here in Brooklyn is much more flexible and worth his while, that’s for sure. He's making enough money to pay for a nice house now, instead of an apartment, keep up utilities and put food on the table, but most of all he's able to buy his daughter toys and clothes on a whim. That's something that he certainly hadn’t been able to do before, in Russia. Perhaps it's his unfortunate habit of buying excessive amounts of clothes for Vanya that causes him to remain at the laundromat later than usual, today. The last load of clothes in the washer is all Vanya’s - shirts, underwear, pajamas, cotton dresses, socks; James is waiting on the last two minutes until the machine stops and he could begin the hunt for a dryer. After that, it was home sweet home - after he made a quick stop by Natasha’s place to pick up his daughter.

Natalia "Natasha" Romanova was a rare find - James had met her at the park just a few months ago, where he had been feeding pigeons with his daughter and Natasha had been jogging with her husband. He had overheard the couple bickering playfully with one another and was surprised to hear familiar Russian words and terms of endearment being spoken between them. It really didn’t take much after that before James exchanged greetings with the couple - Vanya didn’t speak English, yet, and had perked up immediately when she’d heard her first language being spoken by someone other than her father.

Natasha was from Volgograd, Russia, and had moved to New York for her job (a ballerina - Vanya had nearly lost her mind from excitement). She now taught ballet four days out of the week to children under twelve. She was very kind, and Vanya enjoyed spending time with someone who spoke a language that she could understand. Natasha’s husband, Clint, was a veteran of the US Army who owned and operated a small café and bakery. Together, they were a rather interesting and heartwarming couple, always play-fighting or sweet-talking one another whenever the opportunity arose. James had enrolled Vanya in Natasha’s ballet classes near-immediately, and consequently spent quite a good amount of time with the small Barton-Romanova clan. It felt nice to have made friends, again, and especially the sort of friends who didn’t mind the fact that he had a daughter.

James had a good business relationship with Natasha just as much as he had a good friendship with her; he was grateful for her generously opening up her home to his daughter when he needed the help. When James was scheduled to work late into the night or early in the morning, Natasha was reliable enough to call in advance to arrange her services as a babysitter - in fact, she often insisted on such things. Vanya would spend the time that James spent away with Natasha. She would tag along with her to ballet practice sometimes too, when their schedules overlapped, and it ended up working out rather well.

According to Natasha’s stories she was an only child, but she _loved_ children and had been babysitting ever since she was a teenager. Clint seemed fine with the arrangement as well, though James was right to worry about Vanya spoiling her meals with cupcakes, pies, and other various pastries while away from home. Still, once the basic ground rules had been established, they had a rather nice, if not unconventional, arrangement between the three of them. Surely by now Natasha is preparing to go to class, since she starts teaching some time after four in the afternoon. Vanya isn’t scheduled to go, however, so James will consider himself lucky if he can pick her up before Natasha heads off for the studio with Vanya in tow. He just had to finish this one last load of laundry. It was coming out of the washer now. James grabs a basket and opens the lid as soon as the machine beeps, informing him that it was ready.

He pulls out shirts, some socks, a dress or three, a single pair of men’s briefs, and that’s when James pauses and thinks to himself _these aren’t Vanya’s_. They certainly aren’t. They aren’t his, either, he realizes with some amusement - James is more fond of boxers than briefs. Someone must have left behind a pair of their undergarments in the washing machine, and James had failed to notice while he loaded it up. Too bad, he thinks as he turns the article of clothing around with a chuckle; what once was white was now a very pastel shade of pink. He doubts that the original owner will be back for them, which is fortunate since he’s fairly sure that they wouldn’t want pink briefs anyway.

The bell over the entrance to the laundromat jingles softly as the door opens and closes; James is sort of getting annoyed with it, in all honesty, but he supposes that he’s just a little grumpy from lack of sleep. The quicker he gets this load of laundry dry, the faster he can fold, pack up, and get out of there. He gathers the rest of Vanya’s clothes from the machine and heads over to the dryers all lined up against the east wall; he snags the first one he sees (celebrating the fact that he is able to load up so quickly) and soon enough he drops in enough quarters to start the dryer at last. Victory is sweet, and James lets out a breath of relief as he steps back, nothing left to do but wait. And take that stray pair of boxers to the front desk, he remembers. He’d rather return them on the off-chance that someone actually notices they‘re gone and comes back  for them than simply throw them away and be _that guy_. Turning back to where he had left them on the back of the washing machine he’d emptied out, he has to excuse himself as he reaches around an older woman, grabs the underwear, and then makes his way to the back of the laundromat. He attempts to stifle a yawn and fails about halfway through the trek.  There was already someone at the counter speaking with the attendant when he got there, and James stepped behind him, waiting patiently.

James isn’t eavesdropping on the conversation between the customer and the attendant - not actively, anyway - but he can’t help but overhear a few words here and there. He begins to focus more purposefully on the exchange when he hears the customer mutter something about a few lost items that he had accidentally left behind earlier that day. Glancing at the underwear in his hand, James heaves a sigh as he realizes that this may very well be the owner of the now pastel colored briefs; it was a good thing that he hadn’t thrown them away after all, he realizes, shaking his head in amusement.

“Blue jacket, black sweat pants, white tank top, undergarments and swimming trunks, right?” The attendant is saying. “I’ll look in the back - I know I picked up a few things earlier. What color were the trunks?” She stands up from her seat behind the counter, looking ready to head into the office in pursuit of the misplaced property.

“Uhm,” The customer says; he scratches at the back of his neck and shifts his weight from foot to foot, making his sneakers squeak against the tile floor. “They’re red, white, and blue.”

James hides a grin and looks down at his shoes for a moment after hearing that answer, then listens as the attendant excuses herself and leaves to go and search for the man’s clothes. James glances up then, studying the customer standing in front of himself; the man still has his back turned, so James only sees the back of his head and down the length of his body from that angle but if he’s being honest, the view isn’t half bad. The man is impressively tall, maybe an inch or two taller than James, who stands a generous six foot one - certainly nothing to sneeze at. The other man’s blond hair is cut short, the color very rich and the texture seeming very soft; he’s got a healthy tan on his neck and on the backs of his arms. He was obviously someone who spent a good amount of time in the sun, and from the size of his biceps and the width of his shoulders, James guesses that he exercised a lot. Even now, the man is dressed in sweatpants and a gray compression top, as if he were preparing to go for an afternoon run. He has the legs of someone who frequently jogs - at least from what James can see as his eyes roam freely up the length of the man’s legs, finally settling on his ass, which he takes time to admire. The other man is well groomed and in good shape, and James hasn’t indulged much in appreciating an attractive physique, especially when it came to enjoying the male form, so he savors every detail that calls out to him and enjoys the simplicity of it. He wonders what the man’s face looks like and if it would be disappointing if the other should turn around and face him, then dismisses the thought as rude and pointless before he clears his throat and speaks up at last. He might as well return the underwear that he still has in his hand before things become drawn out and awkward.

“Hey pal, I overheard that you’d left some of your clothes here,” James calls, straightforward. “Found these mixed in with my daughter’s clothes - they got dyed pink, so...sorry about that. Figured that you’d want ‘em back.” About halfway through, the man had turned around to see who it was that was addressing him, and James is pleasantly surprised to learn that the man’s face is just as attractive as the rest of him. He has a strong jaw, bright blue eyes, and an open, earnest, expression on his face that makes him seem approachable and friendly. He’s exactly James’ type. “Here, see?” James says, and holds up his hand, still clutching the pair of underwear. “I mean, I _think_ these are yours - if they are, they’re still pretty damp. I didn’t throw them in the dryer. Sorry about that. I just pulled them outta the washer and was about to return them when I heard you talking - ” The man’s expression goes from inviting and friendly to confused in three seconds flat. James wonders what that’s all about, words trailing off slowly and one eyebrow raising gently up his forehead. The man is simply staring at him, his brows forming a V in the middle of his forehead. His mouth opens slightly like he wants to speak but no sound escapes him. James heaves a sigh, shuffling awkwardly and forcing a smile simply out of politeness. “What?” He asks at last, suddenly self-conscious - he didn’t mean to sound rude, but he‘s feeling fidgety under the man’s intense gaze.

The man closes his mouth with a click of teeth, adam’s apple bobbing in the center of his throat. James is quite unable to stop being fascinated and finds himself paying close attention to the motion, eyes roaming up the wide expanse of the other person’s neck slowly before he regains eye contact with the stranger. When he does, he feels as if his feet have suddenly melted into the floor. How hadn’t he noticed before? Possibly because it seems too impossible to be true - those blue eyes, long lashes, that familiar jawline and those barely-there freckles just under the man’s eyes... James suddenly can’t move, can’t speak, can’t take his eyes off of the man before him. He is only able to stand stock still, pink briefs in one hand and a sudden astounding awareness making his heart stutter and bang against his ribcage. Meanwhile, the blond man seems to have regained his composure and finally speaks. His eyes are still quite wide, but his tone of voice is nearly hopeful as he breaks the silence with only one word.

“Bucky?”

**ii**

Steve Rogers had been seventeen, five foot four, and as skinny as a chewed pencil the last time that James had seen him. Eight years was a long time, and Steve is so different now than when James had last set eyes on his childhood best friend. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Steve had grown nearly an entire foot taller, had built muscle where only skin and bones had existed before, and wasn't blowing his nose onto his shirt sleeve every few minutes. Steve’s laugh is exactly the same, however, and those blue eyes were the same vibrant color as they had been in high school. Steve even _sounds_ the same in some weird way. James is not quite over the fact that he hadn’t recognized his friend so easily when he’d first turned around. James also might be reeling from the fact that he had been ogling Steve not thirty minutes ago, but he didn’t think that he needed to open up and confess to that. Instead, James stands folding his daughter’s clothes and packing them away, while Steve leans his hip against the counter top and listens with rapt attention as James describes his years away from Brooklyn. Steve hadn’t left the laundromat, despite having his clothes back thanks to the attendant behind the counter. Steve had been quite excited to see James, and was equally anxious to hear all about Russia, work, travel, and of course, Vanya.

“So what’s her full name?” Steve wonders, his eyes tracking James’ movements as he pulls a pair of cotton leggings from the pile of clean clothes and sets to tucking them neatly into his laundry bag.

“Vanya Rivka Barnes.” James recites fondly. Steve hums and smiles, and James can’t help but to do the same.

“And she’s…?”

“Three. Going to be four in about six months. August.” James tosses out a used dryer sheet and begins to fold together socks and underwear unashamedly while Steve politely averts his eyes and sips from the bottle of soda that he’d purchased.

“What’s her Mother’s name?”

James feels his eyes sting near immediately, though he doesn’t waste tears quite as casually as he had years ago. He fumbles with one small shirt for a while, then finally gets the lines in his fold right, and sets it aside once it’s packaged up nicely. It’s a black shirt with a skull and crossbones on the front and the words ‘lil’ pirate’ written beneath that. Vanya had loved the design of the shirt when she’d seen it, and she’d wanted it despite not understanding what the English words meant. Even after James had told her that it was a boy’s shirt and explained what it said, she still wanted it, and James was not in the habit of refusing his daughter anything within reason. Instead of talking about Vanya’s Mother, James would rather talk about his daughter’s sense of fashion and how she wears her rain boots with a tutu and this very same pirate shirt. But Steve is looking back up at James expectantly, and there’s no point in denying the truth anyway, so James tells himself to stop being dramatic and shrugs his shoulders. “Her Mom’s name was Darya.” He responds at last to the inquiry, voice quiet and eyes flicking back down to his work.

Steve is quiet for a few moments, and James wonders if he’s going to excuse himself and leave the conversation with the suggestion of keeping in touch via social media or some other distant form of communication. James wouldn't be surprised if that were to be the case. He’d understand if someone would rather not linger while James went about with his sob story practically casting a dark cloud over his head. “Was?” Steve says, and James sighs heavily through his nose. “You don’t have to talk about it.” Steve quickly remedies. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” James murmurs, and glances up from his folding in time to catch Steve’s expression: eyebrows turned upwards and lips pressed together, and finger tapping on the side of the soda bottle that he clutched in one hand. James smiles, and the worried crease in Steve’s brow smooths out a little bit. “I just haven’t talked about her much. It’s harder than it should be. I mean, she’s dead. Has been for two years, now. But I just…”

“You hate talking about her in the past tense.” Steve quietly suggests, and James stares at him with a startled sense of clarity. “Yeah. I know. It was the same way after my Ma.” Steve smiles sympathetically, and James feels like kicking himself.

James remembers Mrs. Rogers fondly from his childhood. Mrs. Rogers had been James’ Mother’s best friend. They’d known each other since they were teenagers, and did just about everything together; they’d gotten married around the same time, moved into apartments next to each other, and even raised their boys together. After James’ real Mother had passed away when he was ten, Mrs. Rogers was always there to fill in and be the kind, nurturing, hand that James so often missed when it was down to just him and his Father. She always had enough food prepared at dinner should James wander over, washed his dirty clothes when James and Steve played outside for too long, and tucked him into bed with hugs and kisses just like he were her own son - just knowing that Steve had lost her when he’d been so close to her makes James’ heart twist in an achy, familiar, way. Steve’s Father had died when he was six. That meant that it was just Steve alone in the world now.

“Your Mom? Hell, Steve. I’m sorry.” James swallows heavily, feeling that awful barricade in his throat choking his words. “When?”

“Last year.” Steve sighs. “We knew it was coming, so she and I made sure that we had lots of good times together while we could. Made every day count. I was with her when she passed. She went really peacefully, Bucky. Just fell asleep and didn’t wake up.” Steve recounts the facts calmly, but James can see the shine of emotion in his eyes, though no moisture falls onto his cheeks. He blinks a few times, rapidly, and the moisture disperses. He looks back at James and scratches at his chin before he smiles, half-heartedly. “So, she’s probably got a lot of catchin’ up to do with your Ma. Always told me that the first thing she’d do when she got to Heaven was meet up with her and find a cozy spot to sit and talk and watch the rest of the world spin on.”

James laughs at that - it even makes him feel a little better. “That sounds about right.” He says with a nod, and smiles softly when he sees that Steve seemed to perk up a little at the agreement. “I’m glad that you got to spend time with her, Steve. She was - ” James suddenly remembers how much it had hurt him when he was forced to refer to his wife in the past tense so soon after her passing. He corrects himself accordingly for Steve’s sake. “She’s a great Mom.”

“Yeah.” Steve agrees, still smiling softly. “Yeah, she is.” They fall into a comfortable silence, then, while James folds the last remaining pieces of clothing and starts to pack everything away. Still, every now and again, James glances up from his work and finds Steve grinning while he does one thing or another; drinking from his soda bottle, playing with the drawstrings of his swimming trunks, or even glancing up at James at the same time that James is glancing up at Steve. Eventually, after a few minutes of this, Steve speaks up and resumes their conversation from before. “So. Vanya. You got a picture of her?” At James’ raised eyebrow, he laughs softly. “Dumb question. Let’s see.” He waves his hand in the universal ‘hand it over’ gesture, accepting James’ cell phone when it’s produced from one back pocket and James' favorite picture of Vanya has been pulled up on screen. James waits and watches as Steve takes in the sight of the little girl in the picture. Steve’s expression softens and his smile seemed warm rather than shy, now. “She’s a doll.” Steve breathes, showing teeth when he smiles delightedly; James chuckles and is unable to help beaming in pride. “Looks like you.”

It’s true. Vanya resembles James very much. She has his brown hair and the shape of his nose and jaw; her blue eyes aren’t quite as dark as his and her brow is softer, something that she’d gotten from her Mother, but Vanya’s smile was all James. Especially in the picture that Steve was being shown. “You sayin’ I look like a doll?” James asks, unable to help himself from teasing. He grins when Steve rolls his eyes.

“Hell no.” Steve laughs. He hands James his phone back, and tucks his clothes underneath one arm. Sobering, he nods in appreciation down at the cell phone before James put it away again. “She’s cute, Buck. And if she’s anything like you were at her age, she must be quite a character.”

“Believe me,” James huffs, “you have no idea.”

“I’d like to meet her.” Steve says suddenly, and James halts in the middle of his organization process. “Not right now. I mean, obviously not right now. You’re heading home and I need to get back to my place to finish some work. I just meant in general, as in a ‘one day’ sort of scenario. I just think that it’d be nice, getting together. Catching up. We should meet up more often. On purpose, I mean.”

James feels the tension in his shoulders relax and he chuckled, nodding. “Yeah,” He agrees. “Yeah, I think that sounds all right. Haven’t see you in years, man. I need to let you talk next time, though. I feel like I don’t know a damn thing about what’s new with you.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll hear plenty about me next time. I’ve got some stories.” Steve grins, and then watches as a shirt of Vanya’s flutters to the floor, the garment slipping out of James’ hand in the process of being packed away. Steve bends at the waist and reaches out to grab it, just as James does the same. Their heads collide with a solid _thunk_ and both men utter a quiet sound of surprise before straightening again, mirroring one another as they rub at their foreheads with one hand. Steve gives an embarrassed laugh, and holds out the shirt that he successfully retrieved. James takes it and mutters his thanks before properly putting it away for transport. Every now and again, James looks back up at Steve in order to grin and shake his head in a fond sort of embarrassment.

Both men are grinning, laughing whenever they look at each other for longer than three seconds, and eventually James, overcome with a grand and joyful fever, blurts: “Give me your phone so that I can add my number to your contacts. You can text me and we’ll go have lunch sometime.” And suddenly, James feels like he’s finally come home. Steve was a part of his life that he had nearly forgotten about in his years away, but he’s a part that James doesn’t want to lose entirely. He wants to meet up again with Steve. He wants the opportunity to catch up and learn all about everything that’s happened after he left the states. He wants to know just how the hell Steve had gone from being James’ scrawny best friend to an attractive stranger that was drawing James’ eye in more ways than he should.

Without hesitation, Steve produces a cell phone from the front pocket of his jeans and hands it over. James, in turn, casually thumbs in his cell phone number and programmed it into Steve’s directory - he starts to save the number under the name ‘James’ but suddenly stops himself. A sense of nostalgia has gripped him, and glancing up to see Steve’s open expression only made the idea James had forming in his head more fitting. He hasn’t heard his childhood nickname in over eight years, and hearing Steve refer to him as something other than ‘James’ didn’t feel as odd as he might have thought it would. In fact, it only seemed right. He’s not in Russia anymore. He’s in Brooklyn, in a laundromat, standing across from the best friend that he’d left behind over eight years ago - a best friend who is still exactly that. Why should James call himself something that he’d never felt completely comfortable with? He’s James Buchanan Barnes, and his friends in Brooklyn had once called him Bucky. Steve still did.

Deleting the characters on screen and starting over, James saves his own number on Steve’s phone under his nickname. He grins, thinking that he doesn’t mind - he can be ‘Bucky’ again. It feels nice.

“Great.” Steve says as James - Bucky - types. “It’s a date.”

**iii**

Grocery shopping in New York is an experience that Bucky has rediscovered as something entirely too complicated and mentally exhausting - perhaps it has less to do with the fact that he’s shopping in New York and more to do with the fact that he has a three-year-old who likes to throw anything that catches her eye into his cart. Three-year-olds have very little consideration for grocery lists, after all. Vanya isn’t concerned with price tags or household necessities. All she cares about while at the store is how much she can trick her Father into buying. That’s what it feels like to Bucky, at least.

Forty minutes into their bi-weekly shopping experience, and Bucky has already put back a package of shiny hair clips, pink nail polish, seven (read: _seven_ ) candy bars, and was in the process of weeding out even more unnecessary items from his shopping cart when he discovered his daughter slipping a movie into the cart between two cereal boxes. He parked near the bread aisle and grabbed not one, not two, but three DVDs out of the basket before he kneels down to be at his daughter’s level, the movies bundled together between his hands. He looks at Vanya very seriously and speaks to her calmly, wanting to communicate on the issue at hand rather than put the items back without any explanation or reprimand.

" _You can only pick one._ " Bucky instructs the child. He immediately has to resist feeling guilty when Vanya’s lower lip sticks out and her eyebrows got up in a pitiful expression. If he collapses under the weight of that pleading gaze any more than he already does, Bucky fears that Vanya will become too confident in her tactics and begin to strategize. Bucky will give his daughter the moon if she asks for it, but he also knows that as a single parent, he alone is responsible for preventing selfishness and greed from growing in his daughter’s heart. Sometimes he has to say no, and sometimes he compromises. “ _I didn’t say that you could have a movie today. But I’ll let you take the one you really want. So, pick._ ” Frowny faces aside, Vanya is an exceptionally smart child and knows when to quit while she’s ahead. She looks over all three movie choices very carefully before she points at one in particular and nods when her Father confirms that the movie she pointed to was the one she wanted to buy.

“ _Cinderella._ ” Bucky reads, examining the movie case and nodding in approval. “ _That’s a good choice. Okay, we’ll take this one. But next time you want to buy a movie, you need to ask me instead of putting it in the cart when I’m not looking. Got it, kiddo?_ ” He receives a nod and a bright smile in response, and then places Vanya’s movie of choice back into the shopping cart. The remaining two are put back in their proper bin before grocery shopping continues. Bucky lets out a relieved breath as he puts some more distance between himself and the remaining movies. He’s grateful that Vanya picked Cinderella and not one of the other two titles - there’s no way that he would allowed her to watch something called _Squidbillies_ , regardless of which season she grabbed.

“ _Can I pick a jam flavor?_ ” Vanya wonders, already skipping past the bread and pointing excitedly at the different types of preserves and jellies offered next to the peanut butter. Bucky sighs and grabs two loaves of bread (rye and pumpernickel) before he gives his permission; he watches from further down the aisle as Vanya grabs various jars and attempts to figure out which flavor is which simply by the picture on the label. Not speaking a lick of English, let alone being able to read it, made figuring out the flavors of each jam quite the task for Vanya. Still, when she stomps back towards the cart and holds up a jar of orange marmalade, she seems extraordinarily proud of herself. “ _Oranges!_ ” She proclaims.

“ _Whoa!_ ” Bucky enthuses with a grin. “ _Put it in the cart - carefully._ ” He holds out his hand when Vanya has successfully put her jar of marmalade into the cart, inviting his daughter to grab a hold of him as he steers them around the corner and into the next aisle. Vanya’s hand is small and fits neatly in Bucky’s palm when she reaches out to him - he rubs the back of her wrist with his thumb as they walk, listening to the soft melody that Vanya is humming half-heartedly. It takes a little longer than it probably should before Bucky realizes that she’s humming along to the song playing in the store. “Uptown Girl” is quietly streaming from the overhead speakers, and the melody appears to be enough to catch Vanya’s attention despite her lack of understanding of the English language. It’s enough to make Bucky smile and swing their arms gently, singing along quietly to the lyrics so that only he and Vanya can hear.

Vanya seems to like Bucky's version of the song, if her smile is anything to go by. She swings their arms more enthusiastically and giggles when her Father decides to give her a twirl right in the middle of the aisle. Her sneakers are squeaky and they light up with every step she takes, and Bucky thinks that she’s the most beautiful, graceful, little girl in the world.

"She's adorable." An older woman admires from further down the aisle, catching Bucky's attention. She’s smiling softly at the two of them as she places canned goods into her shopping basket.

Bucky laughs and inclines his head towards the woman in acknowledgment. "Thank you." He responds, spinning Vanya again and again since she keeps twirling and giggling, refusing to stop for more than four seconds.

The older woman, who is maybe in her late forties or early fifties, sighs as she watches Vanya dance under her Father's arm. "She reminds me of my daughter, when she she was that age." The woman goes on, happily. “Your little one can’t be any older than four.”

Bucky nods and gently tugs at his hand, trying to convince Vanya to stay still and stop twirling around in the middle of the grocery store. “She’s three.” He clarifies with the woman, and laughs softly when he finally managed to make his daughter to stand still and she wobbled a little, gripping his fingers even more firmly than before. Vanya regards the stranger cautiously, her eyes rounding with surprise when she catches sight of the older woman smiling and waving at her. She looks to Bucky for assistance, obviously unsure of what to make of the situation. “ _Say hello._ ” Bucky instructs.

Vanya shuffles her feet, but eventually looks back at the older woman and mutters a very soft “ _Hello._ ” in greeting.

“Oh,” Says the woman. “Is that German you’re speaking to her?” She wonders, looking dazzled by the change of language that Bucky had just exhibited. She was gripping a little tighter at her shopping basket in surprise.

“No, ma’am.” Bucky says patiently, shifting once more to English for the older woman’s benefit. “It’s actually Russian.” He had been asked this a few times since moving back to Brooklyn, and was quite used to it when he happened to be overheard speaking to Vanya in her first language. At least this woman hadn’t guessed something completely ridiculous; Bucky had once been asked by a teenager with suspiciously red and glassy eyes if he was speaking Portuguese.

“Russian.” The woman repeats. She looks completely enchanted at that information, and looks back at Vanya with something akin to awe. “How exotic!”

Bucky grimaces and then tries to hide the expression from the woman as best as he can. “Sure.” He shrugs. He supposes some people might consider Russia, it’s language, and it’s people, ‘exotic’, but he isn’t one of them. Though, that might possibly be due to overexposure to the country and its people, he reminds himself. Not everybody has had that experience and he has to remember that. The best Bucky can do is grin and bear it as the woman touches a hand to her cheek and smiles, sighing almost dreamily.

“Enjoy her while she’s still small.” The woman instructs, looking back up from Vanya to Bucky and lowering her hand back to the basket on her arm. “They grow up so quickly, and you’re going to miss the days when she held your hand in the grocery store.” She looks back at Vanya once more, makes a soft cooing sound when she sees how Vanya’s shoes light up as she shuffles closer to her Father, and then smiles politely and adds; “She’s at the perfect age for you to teach her English. You’re very good at it, yourself - I hope that you two have fun learning together!” Then the older woman wiggles her fingers at Vanya in a small wave goodbye, and continues along down the aisle of the store to resume her shopping.

Bucky can’t do much besides sigh and nod as he let the older woman pass him by. He couldn’t think of a polite way to tell her that English is his first language and he spoke it fluently, or that his daughter is only three and that he isn’t too concerned with the need for her to become bilingual within a certain amount of time. The woman hadn’t meant any harm with her comments, anyway, so it isn’t hard for Bucky to dismiss it entirely. He’d heard much worse from people on the streets who felt the need to give their two cents where it was most definitely not wanted; the day he was informed by an angry thirty-something man in a suit that holding a conversation with his daughter in Russian was distracting and ‘un-American’ was the day that Bucky nearly fell back into old habits and wanted to punch the guy’s teeth into the back of his throat.

Vanya glances up at Bucky, still looking very much like she doesn’t know what to think about the stranger that had stopped to speak to them in a language that she doesn’t comprehend. Vanya smiles at her Father nevertheless, and Bucky chuckles as he reaches back down for her hand. “ _Do you want to help me figure out what to make for dinner?_ ” He asks. If there’s any advice worth taking away from the conversation he’d just had with a stranger, it would be enjoy her while she’s still small. Vanya still grabs Bucky’s hand when he offers it to her, and she still likes going grocery shopping with him because it’s fun - she’s three-years-old and her Father is the best friend that she always wants to hang out with. Bucky’s smart enough to know that this isn’t going to last forever and that he needs to cherish these small moments while he still can, which is why he largely ignores his phone as it vibrates in his pocket. It isn’t until he gets home and had finished putting food away in the fridge and cupboards that he finally read the messages he hadn’t bothered to check in the store. There were three, all from Steve.

_(362): Sorry for the late response, just finished up some inking. Doing laundry tomorrow. Noon-ish. Coffee's on me if you’re planning to go._

__

_(363): You’re probably busy with Vanya. Tell her hi for me!_

__

_(364): Actually, don’t, that would probably be weird since she doesn’t know me. Anyway, coffee and bagels on me tomorrow. Get back to me whenever you can._

__

It’s kind of funny, sort of awkward, and completely _Steve_. Bucky grins as he reads the messages again, and then thinks of the laundry that he has piled in his hamper. It’s enough for maybe two loads of laundry if he tosses in the jeans he’s wearing now, and Vanya could always use more clean clothes considering how fast she dirties them. Besides, seeing Steve last week had been fun, and Bucky has been dutifully texting him every day since, joking and inquiring and rediscovering the man who had once been his childhood best friend. Even so, the two of them still have a lot of catching up to do, and being able to talk over coffee and bagels while they get their laundry done sounds like the perfect plan. Vanya would be with Natasha, then, and Bucky would be out of work around eleven in the morning. It worked out quite nicely, actually.

_(410): Sorry, was grocery shopping with Vanya. Won’t tell her hi. That WOULD be weird. Haha. See you tomorrow at noon._

__

Bucky hit ‘send’ and then smiles as he puts his phone away once more. He has dinner to prepare. He can think about Steve more once his and Vanya’s bellies were full; for now, he was going to demonstrate how to chop vegetables for his little girl as she stood excited and ready on a small footstool besides him near the counter.

He didn’t text Steve again for another three hours. Just as he was crawling into bed, in fact. He might have felt bad about it if it weren’t for the amazing fact that Steve understood his priorities, and was able to resume conversations as if no time at all had passed. Bucky might have lost a few hours of sleep like that, up all night texting on his phone like a teenager, muffling laughter into his hands to avoid waking Vanya when Steve said something ridiculous. It was something that he had missed, at the very least - he’d missed Steve. He’d missed Brooklyn. He’d missed feeling at home. Bucky hadn’t felt this happy in a long, long, time and he was too scared of jinxing it to mention any of it to Steve, but somehow he was sure that his friend understood.

**iiii**

“When Peggy moved back to London, we decided to just remain friends... I really dove head-first into my work after she left. I draw cartoons for the papers but I also do some freelance writing and photography. I’m a substitute art teacher, too. And a model for some of the same classes when I need to be.” Steve takes another bite of his bagel - it has cream cheese and strawberries on it, making Bucky slightly jealous since he had asked for his to have peanut butter and bananas. While still delicious, Steve’s looked somewhat more tempting. After chewing and swallowing his food, Steve dusts his fingers off on a napkin and continues talking. “Sometimes I walk dogs, or I babysit. I did a lot of seasonal and odd jobs back in college, so I know how to do a whole bunch of things, which is super helpful since it isn’t exactly easy to become a real comic book artist.” He grins as he picks up his styrofoam cup of coffee and brings it to his lips for a drink. Bucky mirrors the movement and the grin, savoring the strength of the brew in his cup - Steve’s coffee is nearly white from the amount of cream he’d poured into it, and Bucky’d lost count of how many sugar packets were lost to the milky depths of that cup. Bucky drinks his coffee black: simple and rejuvenating.

“So if all of your time is spent hunched over a desk, or sitting behind a computer screen, or teaching art students about shading and lighting or whatever, how the hell did you get so...so...ripped?” Bucky asks, settling on the descriptive word at last with a small puff of disbelieving laughter. He gestures at Steve with his free hand and gets to watch the ever-amusing phenomena that was Steve’s blush; it blooms on his cheeks and over his nose, stretching all the way up to the tips of his ears. When they had been kids, Bucky had seen that same rosy color travel all the way down to Steve’s collarbone, and he’d always wondered just how far down Steve’s chest that it went.

“I, you know,” Steve shrugs, looking embarrassed and amused at the same time. “I work out. I started to swim a lot in college, and that helped with the asthma. Then I started going on daily walks, which eventually turned into jogs, then runs… I did some weights, too, and a lot of cardio. All within reason since I still have breathing problems. But I was just...sick and tired of being held back by my own limitations. Or insecurities. I’ve wanted to be in the army since I was four-years-old, but...well, you remember how sick I always was.” Steve’s smile turns soft and he gives a heavy sigh. “They wouldn’t take me. Still won’t, and I’ve tried, believe me… So I did the next best thing. I got myself into relatively good shape the good ol’ fashioned way.” He shrugs and swirls his coffee around in his cup gently, staring down into the pale liquid with a quiet serenity. “Beats bein’ skinny enough to be knocked over by a strong gust of wind. And I can do a lot more now that I can actually lift stuff heavier than twenty pounds.”

“I can imagine.” Bucky muses. “Still, I gotta admit that it’s pretty weird having you eye-to-eye with me. I sorta miss tiny Steve.” He holds his hand out, estimating how tall Steve had been the last time that Bucky’d seen him - Steve had been eye-to-mouth with Bucky back then. This was a radical change.

“I don’t.” Steve laughs and swats at Bucky’s hand before he grabs him by the wrist and holds on gently, lowering their hands slowly back to the small table they had managed to procure. Bucky is made very aware of how soft and warm Steve’s fingertips feel on the inside of his wrist, and he grins a little crookedly when he sees Steve’s eyes flick down to the point of contact before he releases Bucky at last. “Eye-to-eye, huh? Sure. Are we just forgetting the extra inch and a half that I’ve got on you, Barnes?” Steve eventually snorts, raising one challenging eyebrow.

Bucky wags a finger at Steve. “You’re full of shit, you don’t have an inch and a half on me.” He lies, smiling because he knows that Steve can tell when he’s feigning offense.

“Are we just assuming that you shrunk, then? Ice and snow over in Russia got the best of you?” Steve jibes, and Bucky curses at him affectionately. “Maybe you’ll grow back to your normal size now that you’re back in Brooklyn, huh? If I water you everyday and feed you regularly…” Steve makes a move to shove his cup of coffee in Bucky’s face and is rewarded with a gentle shove to the shoulder for his efforts. “Put you outside in a nice little bed of dirt where you can get plenty of sunshine…” Steve goes on, undeterred.

“Well that isn’t the type of bed that I’m usually tossed into, but okay.” Bucky quippes; Steve shuts up so fast and turns red enough that Bucky’s laugh causes a couple of people to turn and look their way. "Jesus. You're _face_." He chortles.

"You haven't changed a bit, have you?" Steve murmurs, still red-faced, though he’s grinning even as he says it.

Bucky leans back a little, setting his coffee cup down in favor of lifting his bagel back to his lips for another bite. He chews and swallows his food, then shakes his head at Steve, his eyes a little more serious as he addresses him once more. “Actually,” Bucky says, “I think I’ve changed a lot.” He thinks of the last time he’d been in Brooklyn, and the last time he’d seen Steve, and tries to compare his life back then to the life that he has now. It’s almost hard to imagine. Some days he has trouble remembering how he spent his time without Vanya in his life, all those years ago.

Steve regards him for a moment, then makes an agreeing noise at the back of his throat before he takes another drink from his coffee cup. He sets the cup down a moment later, instead reclaiming his nearly-finished bagel. “I guess you have changed.” Steve says at last, grinning across the table at Bucky. “In all the best ways, I’d say. You talk about your daughter like...well, like I’ve never heard you talk about anyone or anything before. Ever. It’s nice to know that you’re so devoted to her...that she means that much to you.”

Bucky can’t help his prideful smile; he loves talking about his daughter. Anyone else might have been put off by the constant chatter of ‘ _guess what Vanya did_ ’ but Steve seems to hang on to every word. He’s genuinely interested in Bucky’s daughter, and he asks about her often despite never having met her, before. “Of course she means the world to me.” Bucky readily agrees. “She’s my little Princess. She wants to be a zookeeper when she grows up, did I tell you?”

“I thought that she wanted to be a ballerina?” Steve asks, talking with a mouthful of food and a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky waves a hand. “She wants to be a ballet dancing zookeeper who is also a famous rock star.” He smiles when Steve’s eyebrows raise in an impressed arch. “If anyone can pull it off, it’d be Vanya. She _loves_ animals, and she’s really good at ballet so far. Oh, and you haven’t heard her belt out any songs yet, but when you do, you’ll see why she won’t have any problem at all becoming a rock star.”

“Speaking of,” Steve says, and finishes the last bite of his bagel, dusting his fingers off on his pants like a child. “I’ve never actually met your daughter. I’m starting to think that you’re embarrassed of me.” Steve grins and Bucky feels a firm nudge against his shin as Steve knocks his shoe into Bucky’s leg beneath the table. “Come on. When can I hang out with you and Vanya? She sounds like a completely awesome kid.” It wasn’t as if the idea hadn’t crossed Bucky’s mind before. He’s sure that he talks about Vanya more than half of the time that he spends talking with Steve anyway - perhaps it _is_ time to introduce his little girl to his best friend. It wouldn’t hurt. And besides, Steve has proven to be more than genuine when it comes to his inquires about Vanya, and his sincerity in wishing her well always makes Bucky smile.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been holding out on you, haven’t I?” Bucky wonders, scratching at his chin. He’s smiling though, and Steve matches the expression soon enough.

“I was thinking, if you haven’t taken her to the zoo yet, that might be a good place to go on the weekend.” Steve suggests. He looks down at his coffee cup as he picks it up again, his cheeks looking warm once more. Bucky wonders about that for a minute, finding it odd and endearing at once, but is distracted once again as Steve lifted his eyes to meet his own. “The three of us? My treat.” Steve says, and Bucky exhales slowly, shoulders slumping in relaxation as he resolves to follow through with this plan. It sounds rather inviting, actually. He _hasn’t_ taken Vanya to the zoo, yet, and he knows for a fact that she would love it.

“Sure,” Bucky lifts his cup and holds it in an open invitation to toast. “it’s a date.” Steve presses his lips together and attempts to create the illusion that he’s smiling, though it looks like he’s nervous about something and the attempt doesn’t turn out entirely perfect. Still, Steve lifts his cup and taps it lightly against Bucky’s - there is no ‘clink’ since their coffee is being held in foam cups, but the finality is the same nevertheless, and they both drink in the moments afterward.

“Is it, though?” Steve asks at last, after licking his lips clean. When Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, the pink on Steve’s cheeks suddenly darkens into a rosy, reddish, color. It’s even stretching down to his neck. “A date?”

And, well, Bucky can’t say that he isn’t pleasantly surprised by this notion - of course he’s been physically attracted to Steve, had been ever since accidentally running into him after so long, but that isn't the point - this is his best friend. Steve’s known Bucky practically his entire life and vice versa, and the last time Bucky checked, Steve was straight. People change over time, of course, and it's entirely possible that Steve had been questioning or even closeted when they had been young boys. Maybe he’d finally figured out who he is and what he likes in life. Bucky has been very comfortable with his own bisexuality ever since he’d hit puberty, and sincerely hopes that Steve hasn't taken too long in life to be comfortable with himself in the very same way. And while he’s thinking of the importance of comfort, Bucky is reminded of just how comfortable he is with Steve. More than he is with anyone else, in fact. If this is Steve’s way of saying that he’s genuinely interested in (and just as much attracted to) Bucky as Bucky is to him, then there’s no way in hell that Bucky’s going to be dumb enough to shoot him down.

It felt only a little weird, thinking of going somewhere with Steve as going on a date, but there’s just something in the back of Bucky’s mind telling him that it was all right to take a chance here and there. That this could be _something_. He and Steve had done some pretty dumb things together as kids, and if this doesn’t work out as something other than friendship, then it would just be one more thing to add to that list of stupidities. No harm, no foul.

So Bucky nudges Steve’s foot underneath the table with his own, continuing the chain of subtle touches that they’ve been sharing ever since they’ve reunited, and flashes Steve his best smile. “Yeah.” Bucky says as lightheartedly as he can manage. “You’ve got yourself a date, pal.”

Steve’s smile… Bucky can easily picture himself spending an entire day with Steve, trying to make sure that he smiles this brightly at all times. It’s warm and relieved, and Steve’s eyes are shining with something bright and hopeful as he locks eyes with Bucky. It makes Bucky’s heart slam a little harder against his ribs - and that’s definitely a new feeling for Bucky when it comes to Steve.

“Okay then,” says Steve, and he winks and points somewhere behind Bucky’s shoulder. “On your six. Grandma’s unloading your washer.”

Bucky is still so caught up in the rush of _I have a date_ that he takes a stupidly long time to realize what Steve has just communicated to him. When it finally does click, however, his smile drops and he sets his coffee cup down, whirling in his seat to check on his laundry. Sure enough, there was an old lady with her hair all up in a bun, yanking Bucky’s and Vanya’s clothes out of the washing machine and discarding them in one of the laundromat’s rolling baskets. She was preparing to load the machine with her own clothes, but was apparently in too much of a damn hurry to wait for Bucky to gather his own. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bucky says as he shoves himself to his feet. “That’s just - that’s _rude as hell_. I’ll be right back Steve, I gotta go get that.”

“Take your time,” Bucky hears Steve mutter, and then he’s off like a shot to reclaim his manhandled clothes from a woman who looks like she was once a witness to the Salem Witch Trials.

**v**

The zoo on a Saturday is full of people, which shouldn’t be such a surprise to Bucky, but it is. He has to hold on tightly to Vanya’s hand, fearful of losing her in the sea of people. Eventually he decides to simply lift her onto his hip rather than risk her slipping out of his grasp, and he’s instantly reassured by the weight in his arms and the warmth against his side. The weather is warm enough that Vanya’s wearing shorts and a pair of strap-on sandals, though Bucky hadn’t been able to talk her out of wearing a long sleeved graphic t-shirt. She had gotten tired of it readily enough, and Bucky ended up buying her a much cooler, short sleeved, shirt from the gift shop to change into, the graphic tee now draped over his left shoulder uselessly. Bucky had decided on a pair of faded denim jeans and a short sleeved plaid shirt for himself. He skipped the sandals altogether, comfortable enough in his sneakers to not miss the breeze between his toes.

Vanya _loves_ the zoo, and Bucky is the first to admit that this trip was a great idea. He’s so busy trying to keep up with Vanya’s demands to see different animals, or translating what each sign says in front of each new habitat, that he’s afraid of Steve feeling ignored. However, every time that Bucky glances over the top of Vanya’s head to check, Steve is smiling and pointing out some new type of critter for Vanya to ‘ _ooh_ ’ and ‘ _ahh_ ’ at, completely involved in the adventure. Every now and again, Steve puts his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, or grabs him by the elbow to guide him this way or that, and Bucky grins at the electricity he feels at every point of contact between them.

The icing on the cake is the fact that Steve looks incredible today; comfortable and carefree. He’s wearing a pair of well-worn running shoes, khaki pants, and a gray, short sleeved, shirt that looks just tight enough around his chest and arms to be eye-catching. Bucky might have lost several minutes to simply admiring the flex of Steve’s muscles under that thin fabric. Wondering.

“Okay, so, the polar bears are this way…” Steve says, reading the map he had been handed at the front gate. He looks up and points at the path leading left, grinning at Bucky and eagerly starting the trek forward. “Come on. We’ll go around this way and wind up at the concession stand just in time for lunch.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Bucky calls back, chuckling when Steve rolls his eyes. He bounces Vanya a little bit, asking her if she wants to go and see the polar bears and all of the ice - when Vanya nods yes and wriggles in his hold, Bucky grudgingly sets her back on the ground, reclaims her hand and continues walking briskly with her at his side. He catches up with Steve easily enough, nudging the other in the ribs playfully when they fell into step together. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re more excited about the bears than Vanya is.” Steve laughs at that, the sound as infectious as ever, and leans to the side to bump shoulders with Bucky as they walk. However, when Bucky casts Steve another sideways glance a few moments later, he’s surprised upon noticing Steve’s suddenly perplexed expression. Bucky is about to say something, ask what’s wrong, when he follows Steve’s line of sight down to his left arm. Bucky lets out a small breath of relief. “You just now noticed the ink?” He wonders, and turns his left arm slightly - he refuses to let go of Vanya’s hand even just to pick up his shirt sleeve.

This doesn’t seem to be an issue for Steve, who reaches out and lifts Bucky’s sleeve on his own, studying the red star tattooed to Bucky’s left bicep. “Yeah,” he says, sounding impressed, “when did you get it?”

“Maybe...one, two years after I moved to Russia?” Bucky says with a small shrug. “I don’t remember when, exactly. And I was pretty drunk when I got it.”

“Drunk.” Steve repeats. This time he looks amused. He lowers Bucky’s sleeve and resumes walking with his hands to himself which is only a slight disappointment. “Okay, I’m interested.”

Bucky snorts. “It isn’t an incredibly thrilling story.” He advises, and when Steve only quirks an eyebrow at him, he continues. “Couple of guys at work thought that it would be a good idea to challenge me to a drinking contest. They thought that it was pretty funny watching the American try and fail to hold his vodka. Apparently I made a bet that I could arm wrestle some guy and win, and when I lost I had to get a tattoo of the winner’s choice.” He glances down at the red star, partially hidden by his sleeve once again, and grins fondly. “Apparently good ol’ Oleg decided that a communist symbol on American flesh was hilarious.”

It isn’t long before Steve is laughing at him, a hand on his chest and his head tossed back. He knocks his shoulder against Bucky’s again, the length of his arm brushing Bucky’s and the backs of their hands touching for the briefest of moments. “Are you serious?” Steve asks, still grinning.

“Completely.” Unable to help his own smile, Bucky mimics the shoulder-bump, this time making sure that his hand presses a little more firmly against Steve’s. Their fingers graze against each other this time, but Bucky pulls away before anything more can come of it. “Haven’t had the time - or the money - to remove it.” Turning the corner at the end of the path brings them to a new area to explore, and Bucky hears Vanya make a pleased sound at the change of scenery. He turns to grin at her, and squeezes her hand gently before he looks back at Steve. “So. Polar bears?”

“They’re over here.” Steve says, pointing straight ahead. He smiles warmly at Bucky, no longer laughing at him, and gestures for him to follow as he leads the way.

They’re walking comfortably, a gentle breeze pushing them along, when all of a sudden Bucky feels a firm tug on his right arm. He is forced to stop moving forward when he feels resistance as he pulls gently on Vanya’s hand. Glancing back at his daughter, he catches her staring intently at the nearest habitat, completely transfixed - he follows her gaze down to where there was an oasis made entirely of ice, with a crystal clear pool of water running pleasantly around it. On the icy shore, there were at least a dozen emperor penguins, all occupied with various tasks or games with each other. They’re quite beautiful, their pale yellow breasts and vivid yellow ear patches striking against the rest of their black and white feathers. There are also two tiny chicks on opposite sides of the oasis, both staying close to their parents. They were both tiny masses of soft looking, puffy, gray, feathers. Bucky’s lips pulled up at one corner as he watched the birds waddle about, and then he quickly turned to look back and call after Steve to let him know that he and Vanya had stopped.

As Steve jogged back a few paces to meet them, Bucky knelt down besides his daughter, stroking her hair gently and leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Those are penguins.” He told her. “ _They’re pretty cute, huh?_ ” Vanya nods, eyes never leaving the habitat. She watches the birds seriously, mouth slightly ajar as if she hadn’t any idea what to do with herself in the presence of these new found creatures. “ _Let me ask Steve to read about the penguins, okay? Then I can tell you more about them._ ”

“ _Bird people._ ” Vanya blurts suddenly, and Bucky suppresses a laugh.

“ _What?_ ”

Vanya looked at Bucky, eyes wide, and pointed down to the penguin habitat. She looked completely enthralled, her expression beginning to bloom with a tiny, delighted, smile. “ _They walk like people. But they have wings like birds._ ”

Bucky allowed himself a gentle chuckle and nodded his head in agreement. “ _They_ are _birds, honey._ _They do walk like people though, don’t they? And they look like they’re wearing fancy suits._ ” Vanya, not having noticed this crucial detail, immediately whipped her head back towards the birds for inspection. When she had worked out the picture in her head of the penguins waddling around with suits on, she giggled and pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes sparkling as she looked back at her Dad, and then up at Steve, who had arrived to stand behind Bucky and to his left.

“What’s up?” Steve asked, leaning over with his hands braced on his knees.

“Vanya wanted to see the penguins.” Bucky said, pushing himself into a standing position. He was clutching Vanya’s hand again, thumb rubbing over her wrist even as he glanced sideways at Steve - he caught Steve staring straight ahead at the penguins, a lopsided grin on his face as watched the birds waddle this way or that, but after a few moments of this, Steve turned his head to look at Bucky, and that’s when Bucky realized that he had been staring quite obviously at Steve rather than the birds. He averted his eyes with a small cough.

“She’s hypnotized.” Steve said after a minute of comfortable silence between them. He nodded his head at Vanya to indicate who he was talking about. “What, has she never seen a penguin before?” He chuckled.

Bucky looked back at Vanya as well, amused to see her now gripping the chain link fence with her free hand, nose slotted perfectly into one of the many openings as she watched the penguins intently. She had the same look in her eye that she got when she was practicing ballet. Bucky smiled, shaking his head. “Actually,” he said, “I don’t think she has seen a penguin before.”

“You’re kidding.” Steve practically gasped. Then he laughed softly. “What, are you going to tell me that there are no penguins in Russia?”

“Of course there are penguins in Russia.” Bucky shot back near-instantly. He looked back at Steve and deadpanned, “They’re called bears. Just like the dogs. And cats. And goldfish. Everything is a bear unless it’s a wolverine, Steve.” Steve was laughing now, and Bucky wasn’t doing much better.

“I meant in the zoos, smart ass.” Steve snickered. If Vanya knew any English at all, Bucky would have been scolding Steve about watching his language around her. As it were, Vanya was oblivious to all words that she didn’t understand, so Bucky let this one slide.

“I have no clue.” Bucky admitted. “I never went to any zoo while I lived there, and neither did Vanya. I’m pretty sure that she’s seen penguins in cartoons and movies, but I guess she never really noticed them before.”

"Well," Steve observes, glancing back down at Vanya with a bright smile, "she has now." He shifts his gaze again, back to Bucky, and Bucky’s face is sort of hot, and he’s smiling kind of dumbly - he can feel it stretching out the muscles on his face but he doesn’t care. Steve’s smile falters, drops for a few seconds as he looks down between himself and Bucky, and then when he realizes that Bucky had just made a move for his hand and was now gently clutching his fingers in the center of his palm, Steve’s smile returned tenfold. It was bright and happy and just as dumb as Bucky’s but it didn’t look like Steve cared about that part, either. They had been dancing around this all day, and possibly even longer than that. There was an attraction between them, and Bucky wasn’t afraid to explore it if Steve wasn’t.

Bucky had spent long enough in mourning. He still misses his wife, and a part of him thinks that he always will, especially when he looks at Vanya and she’s having a moment where she looks strikingly like her Mother - or she laughs, and the sound takes Bucky all the way back to summer in Moscow where he got down on bended knee and slipped a ring onto Darya’s finger. He had spent six years with Darya, two of which he spent married to her. After Bucky’s Father had died, Bucky had nearly hopped on the first plane back to Brooklyn, anxious as he was to be somewhere familiar and safe. He’s glad now that he stayed in Russia, because now he has Vanya, and he wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world. Darya had given him happiness in a country where he barely considered himself welcomed, and when he had no one to call family, she had given him a daughter. Bucky missed Darya everyday, and he’s positive that he will never stop wishing that she could see their child dance or play, but the cold ache in Bucky’s chest isn’t as crippling nowadays. In fact, Bucky can think about Darya without collapsing under the pressure, wondering just what on Earth he’s going to do without her there to help him raise their daughter. The empty space that Darya left behind in Bucky’s life was never going to be filled - it wasn’t up for replacement in the first place - but when Steve closed his fingers around Bucky’s, his chest felt a little warmer and he thought to himself, _this can really be something_.

**vi**

“So how did your wife die?”

It was a topic that was bound to be touched upon somehow, and while Bucky had expected it and had expressed his willingness to talk about it this time, the question still made his heart twist painfully in his chest.

“She had leukemia. Beat it once when she was small, then relapsed. She got an upper respiratory infection the second time around that she just couldn’t shake.” Bucky eats another french fry, then looks towards the fence, where Vanya stood with a souvenir cup in her hands, sipping her lemonade and watching the penguins. Steve, Bucky and Vanya had left the penguin habitat in order to get lunch, but doubled back due to popular demand. Steve and Bucky now occupied a bench near the fence where they could both keep an eye on Vanya, who opted to stand as close as possible to the habitat and giggle at the birds as they went swimming. Every now and again, Bucky would call her over to take a bite of her hot dog, but it was quite similar to pulling teeth. He looked back at Steve once he was assured that his daughter was still safely standing where he had seen her last. “Vanya was really small when Darya died...about one, actually. I was a mess for a long time afterward. It was real hard, trying to bring her up without her Mom around. Her Grandfather helped a lot, but… I finally decided to get my ass in gear and start taking control of my life again so that I could make things easier for Vanya. ”

Steve hummed sadly and nodded, mouth full of food. He lifted his own cup for a sip out of the straw, washing his food down, and gave Bucky’s hand a firm squeeze (he had yet to let go of his hand, in fact, and Bucky was silently thrilled by it). “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a fantastic job. Vanya’s...she’s a great kid. She’s healthy, and happy, and really smart. I think that her Ma would be proud of everything that you’ve done for her so far.” Bucky told himself as much in times of self-doubt, but hearing it from Steve made him feel that much better about his decision to move back home.

“Thanks.” Watching Vanya again, Bucky chuckled when she gave a delighted squeal and turned around to anxiously tell him that she saw one of the penguins dive out of the water and land perfectly on the icy shore. He made appropriate sounds of astonishment until Vanya looked away again, and then he sighed and absently rubbed his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. He didn’t even stop to think about how natural that action felt, just enjoyed the feeling of Steve’s fingers laced with his and the softness of the skin he was touching. “I wonder, sometimes, if it was a good idea to bring her here. She doesn’t speak English, she doesn’t have any family here besides myself, and her Mom is buried back in Moscow anyway… But then I see her dance, and I hear her repeating words in English that she hears from music or movies, and I get to take her to the zoo - thanks, by the way - so...I think that you’re right. Her Mom would be happy.”

Steve was watching him; Bucky could feel his gaze even as he stared straight ahead at Vanya. Eventually, Steve looked back down at the food resting on his knee and then slowly released Bucky’s hand. Bucky brought his hand back into his lap, the spaces between his fingers feeling warm and lonely without Steve’s fingers laced with his own. It wasn’t until he felt the warm weight of Steve’s arm sliding cautiously over his shoulders that he smiled. It was almost as if Steve were afraid that Bucky was going to tell him not to touch him, which was ridiculous and quite the opposite of what actually happened - Bucky leaned back into the touch and grinned when Steve’s hand settled on his shoulder at last.

“This is nice.” Steve said suddenly. Bucky made a small grunt in agreement, eyes still carefully tracking Vanya’s movements as she stood on her toes in front of the fence. “I mean it, Buck. I...this is really nice. I’m having a great time.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, nodded, but said nothing. He didn’t need to wait very long before Steve continued. “We should do this more often.”

This made Bucky smile. He looked away from Vanya for only a minute, in order to tilt his head back and grin at Steve. “I think so, too.” He agreed. “We should do _this_ ,” and he reached over gently to place a hand respectfully on Steve’s knee, “much more often. I’m having a great time, too.” Steve looked like a dweeb, smiling the way he did when Bucky told him this, and Bucky found that he sort of liked that look on Steve.

“ _Papa, look at the baby!_ ” Vanya suddenly shouted, and Bucky and Steve both got up as she waved them over to the fence. Inside of the habitat, one of the baby penguins was being kept warm, nestled safely and warmly in between the parents’ legs. Vanya was completely amazed.

“Just like you and Vanya.” Steve commented with a smile, and Bucky’s heart swelled a little.

Just a few feet from the happy penguin and its Mother, an adult penguin decided to take a dive into the water. When it slipped on the ice and tumbled ungracefully into the water, Vanya laughed and Bucky said in between chuckles, “Just like you, Steve!” which earned him a ruffle of the hair and a warm hand settling at the small of his back.

In the end, they ended up skipping out on an entire portion of the zoo because Vanya only wanted to stay and watch the penguins until it got too late to stick around. On the way out, however, Steve ducked into a souvenir shop and bought a cute, stuffed penguin toy and presented it to Vanya with a somewhat nervous smile. Vanya, after declaring the toy penguin’s name to be Sprinkles, had promptly decided that Steve was the Best Thing Ever, and threw her arms around his neck in a grateful hug (and Bucky might have melted straight into the ground if he hadn’t been entirely transfixed on what a pretty picture Steve and Vanya made).

**vii**

Vanya’s birthday was August 11th the very next month, and she turned four with as much gusto as was expected of her. Bucky had taken the day off, working early in the morning with Natasha and Steve both in order to properly decorate _Hawkeye’s_ \- Clint’s bakery - for the occasion. Vanya had wanted penguin decorations, and a cake with a penguin on it, and as many penguins on the paper plates and cups as possible. It wasn’t a problem, and Bucky was able to acquire everything just in time (Clint’s glacier cake and fondant penguins were _adorable_ ), but he was amused by the request nonetheless. Vanya had not had any desire to have a penguin-themed birthday party a month ago, but ever since Steve had taken them all to the zoo, Vanya had been quite obsessed with the arctic birds.

Natasha had given Vanya a box of assorted hair accessories, all of them very elegant and  perfect for dance class, when Bucky would put her hair up into a bun. Clint had given her the movie _Surf’s Up_. It was hard to tell which gift Vanya loved more, but she was definitely very satisfied with both of them.

Steve had painted a beautiful, rather colorful mural of the Emperor Penguins that they had seen at the zoo together; the baby penguin and its parent were there on the shore, all cuddled together happily while in the background another penguin slipped dramatically into the water. The rest of the painting was of the water itself, where five more penguins all swam together, playing games and looking happy. Steve’s signature was at the bottom right-hand corner of the painting, and the words _Happy fourth birthday, Vanya!_ were written on the very back of the painting itself. Steve presented the painting to Vanya along with another movie for her to add to her growing collection. This one was _The Pebble and the Penguin_ , and Bucky laughed when Clint told him that it looked like he might as well get used to flightless birds becoming the main focus in his house.

There was a very small handful of children that were invited to the party, all of whom Vanya knew from Natasha’s ballet class. The girls and boys didn’t speak the same language as Vanya, but between Bucky and Natasha they were able to translate well enough for the kids to be able to play together seamlessly and enjoy their cake and ice cream. It was the first time that Bucky was actually able to look at his daughter and think _we belong here_. He felt happier than he had in months, maybe even years - and Steve was besides him throughout the whole party, helping to take pictures, or serve food, or even referee certain games like musical chairs and pin the tail on the donkey. Watching him made Bucky’s mouth go dry sometimes. Steve was even more amazing than Bucky remembered from when they were kids, and sometimes he wondered just how in the hell he had managed to catch Steve’s eye as someone who could be more than just a friend.

He was very happily dating Steve now, it was official and everything, and he planned to keep it that way. Explaining it to Vanya hadn’t even been difficult, since she was more concerned about whether or not Bucky was going to stop taking her places rather than who he was holding hands with, or whether they were male or female. And after some careful explanation (Steve made it crystal clear that he wanted to spend time with Vanya as well as Bucky, and that he very much enjoyed it when this was accomplished) Vanya was completely content when she saw her father holding Steve’s hand, or sneaking kisses to his cheek every now and again. She approved of Steve’s company so long as Bucky continued to hold _her_ hand, and kiss _her_ cheek, too, and that wasn’t even an issue for Bucky, really.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky was completely content with his life. He had a wonderful daughter, a great boyfriend, a good job, and a nice place to live. He had everything that he had ever wanted, and then some. He had the idea in his head that Darya would have loved Steve, if she’d had the opportunity to meet him, and that she was smiling down on Bucky and Vanya both, pleased with the direction that their lives were taking. It made Bucky sleep a little easier at night and miss her less, fondly admiring her picture as it remained loyally perched on the nightstand in his bedroom. There was going to be a day, he thought, when he was going to have to relocate the picture to another area of his house not only so that Vanya would be able to have easy access to a picture of her Mother, but so that Bucky would be able to sleep at night without feeling an ache in his chest and the memory of a ghost curled up against his back. But that day had yet to arrive.

On August 15th, four days after Vanya’s fourth birthday, there is a knock on Bucky’s front door. It’s his day off, luckily enough, otherwise he wouldn’t have been around to hear or answer it. He’s alone with Vanya, sprawled out on the floor of their living room with her and a book, going over her ABC’s in English - which she is getting really good at - when he hears the quick, firm, rap of knuckles on his front door. He sighs before pushing himself up to his knees.

“ _Keep practicing, sweetheart._ ” He tells Vanya with a smile. “ _I’ll be right back._ ” He gets a dutiful nod, and then he stands up completely and heads towards the front door, Vanya’s accented renditions of _L, M, N, O,_ fading slightly. Bucky is expecting Steve to be at the front door, in all honesty; the man is prone to simply stopping by on a whim, though he usually calls or messages at least three minutes before his arrival. So when Bucky opens the door and discovers Aleksander Lukin on his front porch, his expression morphs into something entirely bewildered and his eyes widen a fraction in surprise. He has to remind himself of his manners in order to regain proper control of his facial muscles so as not to make a face in the presence of a guest. “ _Aleksander._ ” He says softly.

“ _James._ ” Lukin greets calmly, smiling. He looks a little out of place, Bucky thinks, in his crisp, expensive suit standing on a porch in Brooklyn with his head held high like he owns the world. “ _I apologize for not calling. I realize that I could have missed you or perhaps even intruded at a bad time...but I was in New York for business. I wanted to stop by and wish Vanya a happy belated birthday, and to give her her present._ ” Lukin looks around Bucky then, just slightly, before meeting his eyes again. “ _She’s around, isn’t she?_ ”

“ _Of course._ ” Bucky says automatically, his shock dissipating as a warm flood of relief washes over him instead. He had been exchanging emails now and again with Aleksander in order to keep him updated on Vanya and her well-being. Sometimes he would send pictures. He hadn’t doubted that Lukin would remember his only granddaughter’s birthday, but to have him show up in person was a very moving gesture nonetheless. Bucky took a step back inside of the house and motioned for Aleksander to follow him. After he’d locked up once more, he walked his former Father-In-Law into the living room and smiled when he saw Vanya with her back to them, still singing the ABC’s quietly. Lukin was grinning very fondly now, and looked at Bucky without saying a word, clearly waiting for an introduction. “ _Vanya._ ” Bucky calls into the room without objections. “ _Someone is here to see you_.”

When Vanya turns and gets a good look at just who it is standing besides her father, Bucky wishes that he had been recording this reunion. Vanya’s eyes went as round as dinner plates before she shoved herself off of the floor and came bounding towards them, arms outstretched for Aleksander to lift her into his arms. There was an excited chorus of “ _Grandpa, Grandpa_ ” and “ _Princess, my little Princess_ ” that made Bucky’s heart swell, and he laughed as Aleksander grabbed Vanya around the waist and pulled her straight off of the ground and into his arms, where he could hug and be hugged properly. Vanya was giggling as Lukin stroked her hair, and Bucky smiled at her encouragingly as she peered at him over Aleksander’s shoulder.

“ _I’m sorry that I missed your birthday, Princess. But I didn’t forget about you. Happy belated birthday! Did you have lots of fun? Did you have a party?_ ” Aleksander found the nearest couch and sat, Vanya on one knee, and listened with rapt attention as Vanya described her birthday party in full detail, from the bakery and the decor all the way down to the penguin-themed party favors that Bucky and Natasha had passed out to the children that had attended. “ _And what presents did you get?_ ”

Bucky sat across from Lukin and Vanya, sinking back into the recliner as the two caught up with one another. Vanya was very eager to show off her presents, even going as far as to drag the picture that Steve had painted her (which was rather large, almost as tall as Vanya herself) out of her bedroom so that she was able to show it off. Bucky had given her three movies, practically a new closet full of clothes, and her first pair of diamond earrings, the two tiny studs glistening even now as she wore them happily - she pointed them out with pride, and Lukin laughed as he brushed back some dark hair from Vanya’s face for a better look at her ears. He then gave Bucky an approving smile, and Bucky felt his chest puff out just a little; he was glad that Aleksander was able to see how much better off they were here than they had been in Moscow. He was able to do so much more for Vanya, and all on his own.

“ _These are all very lovely presents, especially those earrings. You keep them very safe, okay? They’re beautiful on you._ ” Aleksander praised, kissing Vanya on the top of her head before he began to reach into the innermost pocket of his jacket. “ _Now, do you want to see what present_ I _brought you?_ ” He asked.

“ _Yes!_ ” Vanya answered immediately, beaming with excitement. When a raised eyebrow from her father caught her attention, she quickly added, “ _Please!_ ” Lukin laughed softly.

“ _Here it is._ ” Aleksander produced a small box from inside of his jacket, the outside a velvety gray and wrapped with a red ribbon, and presented it to Vanya, who took it into her hands with a noise of delight. “ _Go on and open it, sweetheart. I’m excited to see what you think._ ”

Vanya grinned, and Bucky watched from across the coffee table as she pulled away the red ribbon and opened the box. He leaned forward in his seat to try and get a better look, especially when Vanya made a very gleeful sound at the contents that she discovered. “Papa!” She said after a moment more of gazing into the small box. She turned to look over her shoulder and then extended her hand, the box opened and the present on display. “ _Look!_ ” Bucky looked, and he marveled at the beautiful gold necklace that lay inside.

“ _That’s beautiful, honey._ ” Bucky breathed, suddenly choked. He recognized that necklace. It was a tiny heart-shaped pendant on a thin gold chain; unassuming but elegant. It wouldn’t be too heavy for Vanya to wear, though the chain might be long on her. It had belonged to Darya - Bucky could vividly remember his wife wearing it.

He watched his daughter pluck the necklace out of the box and turn it around, inspecting the back of the pendant and then smiling as she took notice of something there. “ _It says my name._ ” She said, sounding delighted. She looked at Bucky again, and held out the necklace. “ _Papa, it says my name right here!_ ” And there, on the back of the pendant and permanently engraved into it in Cyrillic, was Ваня Ривка Барнс - Vanya Rivka Barnes. Directly above Vanya’s name was another, an older engraving compared to the one that said Vanya’s name, and Bucky smiled, his heart aching a little bit, though not entirely in a bad way. Дарья Александровна Лукин. Darya Aleksandrovna Lukin. It had belonged to Darya long before Bucky had married her, and now here it was in Vanya’s tiny hand, and she had no idea whose name the one above hers was.

“ _It says your name, sweetheart, very good. But it also says your Mother’s name. See, here?_ ”  Aleksander gently took the necklace from Vanya in order to lay it flat in the palm of his hand. He was able to point out Darya’s name after that, and read it aloud to his granddaughter. He smiled and rubbed Vanya’s back, then looked over at Bucky with a small, sad smile. He missed his daughter, that much was obvious, and Bucky was grateful that Lukin had held onto something this precious - that he decided to give it to Vanya so that she would be able to carry it with her, always. “ _I gave this to your Mother when she was sixteen-years-old, and she wore it all the time. I want you to have it, so that you can wear it, too. And so that you can remember not only me, but your Mother as well._ ”

Vanya doesn’t remember her Mother very well. She has a sense of her, Bucky thinks, when she looks at pictures of her and smiles fondly. But Vanya usually asks a lot of questions about Darya, wanting to know what she was like. It's good for her to have something that had once belonged to her Mother, Bucky thinks. This way, she'll always be able to have something in common with her.

“ _Vanya, what do you say when someone gives you a present?_ ” Bucky asks as a reminder, when Vanya doesn’t immediately speak up. He sounds a little bit emotional, even to his own ears, and quickly clears his throat.

Vanya looks back at Bucky, looking quiet and thoughtful about the pendant now, and then looks at Aleksander and kisses his cheek. “ _Thank you, Grandpa._ ” She says softly, and then takes back the necklace in order to inspect the tiny engravings. She hops off of her perch on her grandfather’s knee in order to wander over to Bucky and stand between his knees, the gold necklace glistening as she holds it up by the chain. “ _What does it say?_ ” She asks, pointing to her Mother’s full name.

Bucky read it back to her, and smiled when she did. “ _That was Mommy’s full name, before she married Papa. Here; do you want me to put the necklace on for you?_ ” Truthfully, it looked long enough that Vanya could probably slip it over her head without difficulty, but Bucky didn’t want to risk snapping the chain. And besides that, the task gave him something new to focus on while he got himself centered again. He looked up at Aleksander while he brushed Vanya’s hair out of the way and offered him a small smile along with a nod. He mouthed ‘ _thank you_ ’ and then swiftly finished fastening the necklace in place, combing Vanya’s hair back into place as the final step.

“ _It looks perfect._ ” Aleksander praised, a bright smile splitting his face. “ _I knew that it would._ ” He stood then, and inspected the floor on the other side of the coffee table. There were books and crayons and colored paper on the carpet where Bucky and Vanya had been reading and writing together, and Sprinkles the stuffed penguin sat loyally in the center of the room where Vanya had last left him. “ _Did I interrupt story-time?_ ” Aleksander asked, glancing over at Vanya again. He pointed at the paper with crooked Cyrillic and English on it, never looking away from his granddaughter. “ _Did you write that? Those are very good!_ ”

Vanya looked away from her necklace in order to nod anxiously and scramble over to pick up her piece of paper. “ _Papa is teaching me how to read and write. Look, Grandpa, I can write in English. This says_ bird _. And this says_ penguin _._ ” Vanya’s English was clumsy and she sounded a little unsure of herself as she repeated the words that Bucky was helping her memorize, but when Aleksander’s eyebrows rose and he praised her, she was beaming with pride just like she had been doing when Bucky had given her high-fives and rounds of applause during their learning time. “ _I know my ABCs too!_ ” Vanya proclaimed, and instantly started to sing them while Aleksander and Bucky watched and smiled.

“ _You’re learning so much._ ” Aleksander sounded severely impressed, and pet Vanya’s hair before he looked at Bucky with a warm, pleased, smile. “ _Your Papa is teaching you well. I’m glad, Princess._ ”

Bucky felt his heart thump extra hard against his ribs. Approval from Aleksander after the man had been so adamant about Bucky and Vanya remaining in Russia was incredibly rewarding. Bucky’s lips pulled up from one corner and he chuckled. “She learns quickly.” He doted, and stroked one of his fingers down the side of Vanya’s face.

“ _Just like her Mother._ ” Aleksander sighed. He focused once again on Vanya and knelt down in front of her, clasping both of her hands in his own and swinging her arms very gently from side to side. “ _Is there anywhere special that you would want to go, sweetheart? I want to take you somewhere today, to spend time with you before I need to go back home._ ” He side-eyed Bucky, looking like he was almost asking for permission, and Bucky quickly nodded his head in approval. There was no way that he would deny Aleksander time with Vanya after they hadn’t see one another in person for so many months.

Vanya looked surprised for a moment, and then very quickly turned contemplative. It didn’t take long, however, before she had made up her mind and was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. “ _Grandpa, I want to go and see the penguins!_ ” She announced. “ _Can we go to the zoo? I want to show you the baby penguins and their Mommies and Daddies!_ ” She picked Sprinkles up off of the floor and hugged him to her chest, a hopeful look on her face.

“ _The zoo!_ ” Aleksander exclaimed with a smile. “ _The zoo sounds like a wonderful idea. We can take a trip there and enjoy the day together._ ” He looked at Bucky again, and his smile faded into something more modest. “ _If you’re willing, James, I would love to go with you both. I’ve been meaning to catch up with you, too._ ”

At being invited, Bucky took a moment to register the offer and then gave a crooked smile and an eager nod. The less time he spent away from Vanya, the better. And being able to see her reaction to the penguins all over again would be fun. “ _I think it’s a great idea._ ” He finally announced. He knelt down to smooth out Vanya’s shirt and then looked at her bare feet and wiggling toes. “ _Go and find your sandals, sweetheart. I’ll put them on you and braid your hair. Then we can leave with Grandpa._ ”

“ _Okay!_ ” Vanya, still clutching her stuffed penguin, took off towards the back of the house at a brisk run in search of her shoes. Bucky, while in the middle of thinking just how sweet and incredible his daughter was, stood up once again.

“ _The zoo...I haven’t been into a zoo in many years._ ” Aleksander chuckled. “ _This should be quite an adventure, indeed._ ”

Bucky laughed. “ _Maybe,_ ” he said, “ _but I should  warn you that there’s a possibility that we aren’t going to get past the penguin exhibit._ ” Aleksander tilted his head and furrowed his brows questioningly. “ _Vanya has discovered penguins, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. She loves them. All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t get my hopes up when it comes to seeing the giraffes._ ”

**viii**

Aleksander came to visit five more times over the next four months, including the three day weekend he spent in Brooklyn when Bucky and Vanya were celebrating one entire year spent living in America. In between visits from Aleksander, work, and time spent with Vanya, Bucky made time for Steve in his life.

It would have been scary how easily Steve fit into Bucky’s life if Bucky hadn’t already been used to Steve’s presence. It was different now than it was back then, of course; when they were kids all the way up until high school, they were just friends. Now that Bucky was back in Brooklyn, they were much more than that. And while it was sort of scary to be in a relationship again after so long, Bucky was enjoying the comfortable ease with which Steve piloted their budding romance. Steve was usually only a phone call away from coming over for dinner, and Bucky was always anxious to take Vanya out for some playtime at the park when Steve called to invite them. They kept in contact via text message during the day, and when they couldn’t afford to see each other after work or in the evening, long phone calls that dragged well into early morning hours were the norm. Steve was a fantastic best friend, Bucky already knew that - but he was thrilled with the fact that Steve was an amazing boyfriend, too; sweet, thoughtful, considerate...great in bed, too, which was always a big thumbs up.

The first time that Steve had offered to babysit Vanya, Bucky had refused, insisting that Steve didn’t need to worry about taking care of Vanya when he had his own work to do. But then Natasha had been sick, and Clint was working, and somehow Steve ended up staying over at Bucky’s house anyway, watching movies with Vanya and attempting to communicate with her via some form of mangled sign language that would make Clint laugh or cringe or possibly both.

Bucky had gone to work at five in the evening and returned around one in the morning, exhausted and feeling guilty for putting Steve out, but when he saw Steve sitting upright, asleep on the couch with Vanya carefully tucked under one arm and dozing against his side, he forgot about guilt in the face of such a peaceful picture. As it turned out, despite not having a common language, Steve and Vanya still managed to have fun together. They watched movies, or played games (Steve informed Bucky that tea parties were quite forgiving when it came to not speaking the same language - all he had to do was smile and nod as Vanya poured him pretend-tea). Steve even taught Vanya how to draw her new favorite animal. There were papers with penguins and blue squiggles all over the floor, and Bucky hastily stuck nearly all of them to the fridge in pride.

Steve was a fantastic best friend, an amazing boyfriend, an excellent lover, and as it turned out, a perfect babysitter; Vanya now anxiously awaited the days when Steve would stop by to watch her. Bucky scratched his head sometimes and wondered how he had managed to get this lucky. To be falling so hard for someone that had experienced growing pains with him, had seen him do ridiculously dumb things and could still look him dead in the eye and smile...someone who had learned to live without Bucky the same way that Bucky had learned to live without Steve, and someone who appreciated the different life lessons that they both have picked up along the way. Bucky was unbelievably grateful, and so, very, very, happy.

**viiii**

Bucky wakes up at five thirty AM, grumbling and groaning as he fumbles to silence his alarm. He’s due to go into work at seven, and not exactly being a morning person means that he’s slow to rise and even slower to become coherent.

Bucky winces as he rolls over in bed, muscles tired and sore from a long night spent with Steve. Each ache reminds Bucky of the activities of the night before, and he soon became too pleased to care much whether or not his body was sore - it had been a great night, and the marks left behind on Bucky’s body (all in places that would be quite invisible with clothes on) were a testament to that.

When Bucky sits up in bed, sheets pooling around his waist, to rub his eyes and shake himself into relative alertness, he’s surprised to find Steve struggling into a sitting position, as well. Steve had spent the night at Bucky’s house, as he had been doing for a while now. He would come over in the evening, be it for dinner or just to hang out, and he would leave early in the morning, discreetly, so that Vanya wasn’t aware that he had been there the whole night through. It was for no other reason other than respect for Vanya that they practiced this, and Bucky was grateful that Steve didn’t seem to mind the odd hours. So Bucky wasn’t surprised to find Steve in bed with him, he was simply surprised by the fact that Steve was awake - or trying to be. Sure, Steve was due to babysit today, but he didn’t necessarily need to be awake at the same time that Bucky was. Normally, as long as Steve was awake and dressed before Vanya crawled out of bed, everything was perfectly fine, but Vanya liked to sleep late on the days she wasn’t due to have tutoring, and Bucky _had_ let her watch _Mr. Popper’s Penguins_ pretty late into the night...Steve didn’t need to be up for hours.

While Bucky is surprised, he is also groggy enough not to question anything.

They both blinked tiredly at each other when they succeeded in cracking their eyes open and blinking away the sleep clouding their vision, grunted their good mornings, and elbowed one another playfully by way of greeting. Steve ends up ducking into the bathroom a few minutes later, and Bucky grumbles about having lost the (slow, shuffling) race there and instead pulls on some clothes and shambles into the living room, alone. He flips the light switch up as he passes through, grumbling unhappily as the light makes his eyes sting; he shuts them tightly and gropes along the wall on his way towards the kitchen. In his temporarily blind state, Bucky manages to bash his shin against an end table near the couch and curses as quietly as possible while waiting for the pain to subside before he resumes his trek into the kitchen with only a dull throbbing in his leg hindering his step.

The assault of the lights in the kitchen isn’t so bad by the time that Bucky makes it there, though his eyes still water slightly and he has to blink rapidly to make the ache go away. The fridge is the only source of sound inside of the room; it’s emitting a low hum as Bucky makes his way towards it and yanks on the handle to open it up and peer inside. As tired as he may be, Bucky looks at the supplies that he has stockpiled in there and thinks of about three different things that he could probably make for a quick and easy breakfast. Maybe a spinach and tomato omelet, or some oatmeal topped with apples and cinnamon. Vanya loved pancakes just about as much as Bucky did, and he considered preparing a short stack for himself, and leaving some batter behind for Steve to prepare when Vanya woke up hungry. Decent enough ideas, and yet his fingers curl around the handle of the milk jug and he tugs it out. Bucky’s mind is already on the half-full box of Chex that he’s got inside of the cupboard, somewhere. The pancakes can wait until Vanya is up and around. All he really needs right now is something in his stomach so that he can feel a little more grounded and alert. The fridge continues to hum even as Bucky closes it behind himself and sets the milk onto the counter. He grabs the box of Chex out of the cabinet, a clean bowl from the dish rack besides the sink, then begins to pour cereal into his dish.

Long moments of silence in the house is such a rare thing, these days. Bucky doesn’t miss it, per say, but the novelty of the silence amuses him. He can actually hear his own thoughts running around inside of his head, just as well as he can hear the AC, the fridge, and the sound the cereal makes as it hits the bottom of his bowl and begins to fill up. When the sun rises a little later on, Bucky knows that the house will hear the soft pitter-patter of his little one’s feet down the hallway as she races out of bed in order to find him, and for a moment he’s disappointed that he won’t be here to greet her when she wakes up.

It’s was funny. Bucky had never known anyone as well as he knew Vanya. Or maybe that was only partially true. Bucky knew his daughter like the back of his hand; her favorite color, all of the shows she liked to watch, which clothes she liked the best, favorite foods, favorite animal…but he had known all of that, and then some, about Darya as well. Bucky misses Darya a little, just like he usually does when he wakes up and sees her picture on his dresser. Having Steve at his back makes those melancholy thoughts fade a little quicker though, for which Bucky is grateful.

Sometimes, when he’s been up all night worried about how he’s going to handle everything all on his own and how Vanya will grow up without a Mother, Bucky will peek into his daughter’s room while she sleeps. Seeing her resting peacefully always gives him comfort; she has a home, and a warm bed, and she doesn’t lack for food or even toys. He’s done this much for her, at least. It’s times like that when Bucky sees the bigger picture: Vanya has the same faith in him that Darya did when she would tell him, seriously, that she knew he would be a fantastic Father. Darya trusted Bucky with their daughter, and she had told him that she knew Vanya would be in good hands when she was gone. And now Vanya was the one looking at Bucky for guidance, and comfort, and he understands so much more than he did back then. Darya loved their little girl. Bucky had no right to do any less than his absolute best to provide for her and keep her safe and loved.

Bucky Barnes has two great loves in his life. One love lasted for a season, but left a permanent mark on his heart and in his life. The second love is forever - Vanya is always going to be his, and just knowing that simple fact makes his heart swell with pride and adoration. So much of such a good thing. A thing Bucky never thought that he would ever have for himself. Vanya was the greatest gift to ever have been handed to him, and now his rather meager existence had purpose. He was going to make Darya glad that she’d had so much faith in him. Their daughter would have a positive upbringing and a very prosperous life in America. All Bucky has to do is make it his life’s mission to pave the way for Vanya, in whichever direction she wants to go.

From somewhere behind him and deeper into the house, Bucky hears Steve yawn and smack his lips a few times; it sounds like he’s moving towards the kitchen rather than back to bed. Bucky adjusts his pace accordingly and stops before he can pour his milk, instead pulling out another bowl from the dishrack by the sink just as the footsteps come to a halt. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Steve is now somewhere behind him, in the kitchen.

“Chex of Cocoa Puffs?” Bucky asks, when those familiar footfalls start up again.

“Cocoa Puffs.” Steve says. Then, “Coffee?” His voice is still thick with sleep as he pilots himself further inside of the room.

“Yeah.” Bucky responds. He makes room at the counter for Steve to slide in besides him, then reaches for the box of Cocoa Puffs in the cabinet.

By the time that Bucky has poured the cereal and milk into both bowls and returned the boxes of cereal and the gallon of milk to their proper places, Steve has already started the coffee maker and grabbed two spoons out of the utensil drawer. They trade off - one spoon in exchange for one of the bowls of cereal - and together, he and Steve fall into two chairs opposite one another at the kitchen table. Steve is dressed in yesterday’s clothes, his shirt slightly wrinkled from the way Bucky had crumpled it up and thrown it to the floor last night. Bucky makes a mental note to invite Steve to borrow any of his shirts or sweat pants, a little later on, should he feel the need to change.

The room begins to smell like coffee and chocolate, and now the only sounds in the house are the fridge, the air conditioner, the coffee maker, and two very tired men munching on Cocoa Puffs and Chex as they rest in companionable silence across from each other. It’s familiar, and routine, and oddly comforting to Bucky.

This morning, however, something sits oddly with Bucky. Not necessarily in a bad way, but there is a certain heaviness in his chest. He feels as if there is a blanket draped over him, warm and slightly distracting. So for no real reason other than to change the routine, Bucky shies away from his usual habit of eating and minding his own business, and lifts his gaze from his breakfast. That’s when everything suddenly comes to a startling halt. The fridge hums, the air conditioner keeps running, the room still smells like coffee and chocolate and Steve keeps eating, oblivious. The blanket falls away from Bucky, clearing his thoughts, and the room feels light again. It all makes total sense.

“Why’re you up so early?” Bucky wonders, not sounding as tired as he had just moments ago. Steve looks up from his cereal and blinks lazily a few times before he shrugs.

“Wanted to keep you company ‘fore you left for work.” Steve yawned. “That’s all.” He went back to his cereal in contented silence, slurping the chocolate milk from his spoon in between bites.

When Bucky had moved back from Russia, Steve was the last person that he had expected to run into. They hadn’t spoken to one another in years, had lived separate lives and just about forgotten that the other existed. It was a pleasant surprise when they ran into each other anyway, and found that there was still a friendship to be salvaged despite all the years that had passed with silence between them. Now, Bucky cherished each morning he spent across the table from Steve, who ate his horrendously sugary cereal and fixed coffee for them both. Bucky would have never imagined that he would be thinking so casually about offering another man access to his wardrobe, and he couldn’t imagine cooking dinner for anyone else besides his daughter. Bucky couldn’t imagine Vanya learning how to draw birds from anyone else but Steve, and he couldn’t imagine Steve letting any other four-year-old girl wrap a pink, feathery, boa around his neck while they sipped pretend-tea with a stuffed penguin named Sprinkles.

Bucky often wonders what made Steve so good with kids. Children had always taken to Steve naturally, even when he had been younger, and even now that he was an adult not much had changed in that respect. Vanya _loved_ Steve. And Steve seemed to feel quite the same way towards her. Bucky could lose hours from his day just watching his daughter being doted on by someone like Steve, who not only sat down and played with her for as long as she wanted, but who cared enough about her to pick up a book on Russian language to try and make communication easier (Bucky had been overwhelmingly touched at that gesture, even if he had made fun of Steve’s mispronunciations). On the nights that Bucky needed to be at work, he didn’t worry about Vanya being anywhere other than home, or crying for him the entire time that Bucky was away. Natasha was a great babysitter to Vanya, but now that Steve was spending more and more time at Bucky’s home with the little girl, he was becoming the usual go-to guy. Vanya was safe in her own home, with her own toys and familiar surroundings, with Steve there to watch over her.

Not many men would be so willing to give up their Saturday nights like Steve did just to stay at home and watch kiddie movies with their boyfriend and their boyfriend’s daughter. Not many men would accompany that very same boyfriend to the doctor’s office when their child was sick. Not many men would make the sacrifices that a parent would, for a little girl that wasn’t even their own.

And yet, Steve did. Again and again, Steve made sacrifices for not just Vanya, but for Bucky as well. Steve was there for them both, and Bucky had always known this, had always been grateful, but suddenly his perspective on the entire situation was broadened; he couldn’t imagine how he could have possibly made it this far without Steve there to have his back and keep an eye on his daughter. Steve watched over Vanya just like Bucky would. He was there for her. It was striking how much it seemed like Bucky had a co-pilot at home these days. Someone to help him navigate through the every day adventure and who would always put Vanya’s best interest before anything else. Darya had trusted Bucky with their daughter, to make sure that she was safe and happy, and now Bucky trusted Steve in much the same way. That skinny little kid that Bucky had grown up with was now a grown man with all kinds of possibilities and roads available to him and yet here he was, sitting across from Bucky at the kitchen table at five in the morning eating Cocoa Puffs because he wanted to keep Bucky company before work. Steve was here for Bucky til’ the end of the line - a promise that had been uttered as a frantic whisper while skin pressed against skin some nights ago. Suddenly the weight of that reality settled in and made Bucky feel dizzy for a moment.

“Oh.” Bucky blurts. Steve looks up again just as the air conditioner cuts off.

“What?” Steve asks.

Bucky is hiding the beginnings of a smile as he ducks his head and lifts a spoonful of milk to his lips. Everything made sense, including the way that Bucky trusted Steve with not just being a good babysitter for Vanya, but also a good role-model for her. And beyond that, Bucky trusted Steve with so much of himself. It was ridiculous how he had taken so long to see what was right in front of him the entire time. Bucky loved Steve; he always had, but never as intensely as he did at this exact moment. His love for Steve wasn’t platonic, or brotherly, or even what some might call puppy love. It was bright, and warm, like a ray of sunlight warming you in the middle of the afternoon on a snowy day. It was hot, and red, and so fiery that Bucky felt like a hole was being punched through his chest from where his heart was beating heavier now - heavier because of the weight of it all; his love for Darya, for Vanya, and now for Steve. Bucky loved Steve. He just hadn’t realized _how much_. He felt incredibly stupid that all it took for him to come to his senses was a change from their every-other-day morning routine.

“Nothing.” Bucky says when Steve raises an eyebrow at his bout of silence. He slurps his milk for good measure, and when Steve relaxes and grins at him before resuming his meal, it’s confirmed.

Bucky Barnes has three great loves in his life. One came and went like winter, one is forever, and one is blooming right underneath his nose like flowers in spring.

**x**

“Move in with me.” Bucky breathes. It’s late at night and he’s in bed. He's been dozing for a good fifteen minutes, on and off, while Steve sits in bed and sketches beside him. Bucky can still hear the soft scraping of Steve’s pencil sliding over paper. He rolls over in bed just in time to see Steve’s hand freeze mid-stroke, and quickly glances up at Steve’s face.

“What - ” Steve starts, and Bucky talks over him.

“I love you.” He watches as Steve sucks in a breath of air, eyes going wide in his surprise. Steve puts his pencil down, and Bucky sits up. He feels that he should probably be eye-level with Steve when he says this, even if his stomach is twisting itself into knots and he feels like he might be burning up with a fever from how hot his face is. “I love you...move in with me?” Bucky takes a shaky breath, holds it, and then lets it go, along with the question, “Please?”

Steve closes his sketchbook, setting it on the nightstand besides the lamp. His eyes aren’t wide anymore, and he doesn’t look as nervous as Bucky feels. In fact, his lips are beginning to pull up into a small smile.

“I think Vanya would be all right, once we explain. She loves having you around anyway, you know? So do I, obviously. I know that we’ve only been dating for six months, but I just thought...well, I really would like it if you lived with me. We’ve got room. If you need an office space, well, we can convert the garage, maybe. Or something. We can figure it out. I just...I love you. I really...I love you, Steve.”

Steve’s oddly silent, and Bucky feels like his heart is plummeting straight through his mattress to the floor. It isn’t until Steve leans over and kisses him, soft and sweet, that Bucky begins to relax again. He can feel Steve smiling against his mouth.

“I love you, too. I can be completely moved in by the end of the week.” Steve says with a smile, and Bucky pulls him back in for another kiss.

**xi**

“Goddamn it, Steve. Sit down before you kill yourself.”

“It’s just a little dust, Buck - ”

“You’re already wheezing. I can hear it from here.”

“So? I’ll just grab my inhaler. It’s...somewhere. Around.” Steve cast a glance at all the different boxes around his feet in the garage.

“Do that. And then take a seat and stay there while I finish unloading your car.” Bucky grunts as he lowers a rather heavy box of art supplies to the ground. He straightens up and dusts off his hands on his jeans.

Steve is frowning, arms crossed. He still hasn’t located his inhaler, but Bucky is pretty sure that Steve need to actually dig around in some boxes before he does. It isn't going to magically appear, no matter how hard Steve stares at the ground. “I’m not gonna let you move all of my stuff in here by yourself.” Steve says firmly.

“Why not? It’s not like you have all that much left.” Bucky snorts. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Steve’s shiny, blue, 2014 Stingray Corvette parked in the driveway - the car that Steve insists was _gifted_ to him, as if people regularly give away Corvettes as presents. Bucky didn't buy it. “That car’s sexy and everything, but it sure doesn’t haul that much. I think you brought a grand total of five boxes in three trips.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “We could have just rented a U-Haul like I wanted, and this all would have been done in one trip.”

“I didn’t think that there would be this much stuff, okay?” Bucky flaps his arms a little. “Your apartment was so small. How the hell did you manage to cram this much junk into it?” He scratches at his head as he looks back at his own truck (a 2006 Chevy Silverado - not much to look at, but it sure is convenient to have around when it comes to moving). Steve’s couch, dresser, bed frame, and mattress are still in the bed of the pickup, waiting to be moved into the garage. Bucky won’t be able to move everything all by himself though, and Steve is on the verge of an asthma attack even now. Bucky is either going to have to wait for Steve to recover, or risk breaking the furniture in an attempt to move them all by himself. He decides to wait rather than risk dropping something and getting Steve pissed off.

“Not all of it is junk.” Steve defends. He sounds a little raspy, and he wheezes when he breathes out, though he's obviously trying to be subtle about it. “I’ve got a lot of books, and sketches, and paintings.”

“I know, I know. It’s not junk.” Bucky offers Steve a small smile, then walks further into the garage. He rummages around in one of the cardboard boxes that holds Steve’s clothes and the contents of his dresser. He comes back a few moments later with Steve’s inhaler in one hand. He hands it over to the other man with a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Suck it up, buttercup.” He teases. “You’re helping me move the furniture or you’re sleeping on your couch, in the back of my truck, tonight.”

Steve laughs, then shakes his inhaler before he puffs on it a couple of times. He looks relieved when he finally lowers it from his mouth, and then carefully puts it away in the back pocket of his jeans. “You know, as tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll help you move the furniture.” He says, clapping Bucky on the shoulder before he very gently rubs there, his fingers firm as they dig into the tired muscles between neck and shoulder. Bucky makes an appreciative noise. “Hey, look. We’ve got an extra set of hands to help us.” Steve chuckles, and Bucky cracks an eye open from where it had fallen shut, glancing sidelong where Steve indicated.

Vanya is dragging one of the smaller boxes out of Steve’s car. It's full of kitchen supplies, and makes all kinds of racket as she hauls it from the driveway into the garage, looking determined throughout the entire trip. Bucky grins and gives her a big thumbs up when she reaches the mouth of the garage and stops. She smiles at him.

“ _Thank you, sweetheart! You’re a great help._ ” Bucky calls out. Vanya beams and then promptly begins to penguin-waddle (her new favorite way to walk) back into the garage where she had previously been coloring. She likes to help with all kinds of different projects, but gets tired easily. Bucky would rather have her coloring in the garage instead of dragging around heavy boxes all day, though, so he's content when she settles back down on her blanket and picks up her crayons and coloring book. To Steve, Bucky says, “Come on. That couch isn’t going to move itself.”

They're just finishing pulling Steve’s dresser down from the truck, Bucky on the ground while Steve pushes, when the sound of gravel crunching underneath tires catches their attention. They turn their heads at the same time, looking out towards the road. A sleek, black, car was pulling up along the sidewalk, parking in front of Bucky’s house and just behind the truck. Bucky couldn’t quite make out who it was from his angle, and a questioning look from Steve told him that Steve had no idea who it was, either. It was Vanya who alerted Bucky to the identity of the person in the car. As soon as the driver’s side door opened up, Vanya was sprinting excitedly down the driveway shouting, “ _Grandpa, Grandpa!_ ”  
  


Aleksander was climbing out of the car, and Bucky could now very clearly see the top of his head, the faint shimmering of gray hairs at his temples. The car door was shut firmly, and then Aleksander was turning around just in time to be plowed into by Vanya; she wrapped her arms around his leg, laughing and calling out to him excitedly, and Aleksander had to balance himself against his rental car to keep from bowling over. As the two reunited, Bucky was forced to once again focus on the couch he was half-supporting, cursing when it slipped and bumped heavily into his shoulder.

“Easy, easy,” Steve was saying, grunting as he helped to lower the couch as far as he could. He hopped down to help Bucky lift it the rest of the way out of the bed of the truck, and then set it down at the lip of the driveway. They were both breathing a little heavier and looking back at where Vanya was now being carried, Aleksander’s arms supporting her weight as he kissed her cheek and forehead. He was speaking to her in warm tones. “Is that her Grandpa?” Steve wondered, squinting a bit as the sun glared down at them.

“Yeah.” Bucky huffed. He rubbed at his left shoulder, where the couch had bumped him, and then stretched his arm a bit. “I didn’t know he was comin’ by…”

“ _James,_ ” Aleksander calls out. He lifts a hand in greeting, waving once, and then shifts Vanya’s weight onto his hip as he makes his way over, towards where Bucky and Steve are both standing, sweaty and out of breath. By the time Aleksander reaches them and extends a hand, Bucky has already dusted his hands off on his jeans and shakes his hand firmly, smiling.

“ _Aleksander._ ” Bucky greets. “ _I wasn’t expecting you. When did you get into town?_ ”

“ _Yes, pardon my intrusion. I had a holiday, today, and I decided to spend it here. I didn’t expect to have caught you at such an improper time._ ” He looked at the stray boxes and furniture, and then finally at Steve, as if he suddenly realized that someone else was present. In English, he stuck out his hand and said, “Hello. I’m Aleksander Lukin, James’ ex-Father-In-Law.”

“Steve Rogers.” Steve said, hastily cleaning his hand on his shirt before he accepted the handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Lukin smiled politely, and then looked back at Vanya, muttering affectionately to her in Russian, complimenting her braided updo (Bucky had spent nearly forty-five minutes getting it just right that very morning). When Lukin turned back to both Bucky and Steve and spoke again, he defaulted to English, possibly out of consideration for Steve. “Are you moving out, James?” His tone of voice suggested that he knew that wasn’t the case, but had decided to ask anyway. He glanced at the couch which he noticeably didn’t recognize - he had been inside of Bucky’s house, of course, and the furniture in the driveway was all foreign to him and it showed on his face.

“Well,” Bucky said, feeling awkward all of a sudden, “no.”

“Oh.” Aleksander looks around at all of the boxes again, and then smiles between both Steve and Bucky, though the expression looks a little forced. “So what have I interrupted, then?”

Bucky hesitates before he answers, wondering how exactly to word his response. It’s not that he’s embarrassed about Steve moving in - quite the opposite. Steve agreeing so readily to move in with him is one of the best things to happen to Bucky all month. He's excited, a little nervous, but overall in good spirits about the move. But with Aleksander here...Bucky isn’t quite sure how to explain. He’s fairly sure that Aleksander already knows what’s going on, can see in his eyes that he’s put two and two together, but he wants Bucky to confirm it.

Darya had known about Bucky’s sexuality long before they had gotten married, and she had told him once, truthfully, that she didn’t care. She was open and honest, had told him that there was no reason for him to be afraid to tell her (because he had been), and she had also said that she loved him and that his sexuality was nothing she would find herself stressing about. Her Father on the other hand, Darya had said, was a different story. Aleksander viewed the world very differently than Bucky and Darya both did, and his opinion on homosexuality was very unforgiving. When the anti-gay propaganda law had passed, Aleksander had given a long, and what was meant to be rousing, speech over dinner one night, pleased with his country’s decision on the matter. Darya had rolled her eyes when her Father wasn’t paying attention and had kissed each and every one of Bucky’s fingers later that evening when they were both laughing about it in the safety of their own home.

Bucky is beginning to feel nervous again, though he tries his level best not to show it as Aleksander waits patiently for his answer. Steve casts him a worried glance, seeming unsure of himself and whether or not he should answer the question on his own. Steve thankfully remains quiet, and Bucky recovers after only a few seconds’ reprieve. There’s no ignoring the question, and inventing some bullshit story isn’t going to do anyone any good. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, or nervous, he decides. He’s a grown man, living in New York, in America. He can move in with whomever he damn well pleases, provided that they’re safe for Vanya to be around, and Steve is just that and more.

“Steve’s moving in.” He explained shortly. It was that simple. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling much better when he saw Steve’s tiny smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, are you?” Aleksander glances towards Steve, eyebrows raised in polite inquiry. When Steve nods and confirms this, Aleksander looks back at Bucky and makes a soft sound at the back of his throat. “I always assumed that your home was only two bedrooms, James.”

Bucky breathed deeply, looking over at Vanya as she rested in Aleksander’s hold. She was looking around at the three adults, confused by the lack of Russian being spoken. Bucky grinned at her to lift her spirits and she smiled back immediately. Encouraged, Bucky said to Aleksander, “It does.”

Lukin nodded. He glanced at Vanya as well and then chuckled, a slightly disbelieving (or disapproving) tone in his voice. “Surely you aren’t going to move Vanya out of her bedroom, James?”

Bucky shook his head. He was growing tired of this verbal run-around. “I’m not.” He answered. “Steve’s moving in with us and Vanya’s keeping her room. There’s room enough for three.” He tries to keep his tone light and friendly, and only partially succeeds. Still, he offers Aleksander a smile, and bumps his shoulder against Steve’s casually, prompting a soft laugh from him.

Aleksander’s smile is strained now, in response. “I see.” He says, and then clears his throat, looking back at the driveway. The mattress and bed frame are inside of the garage now, and the  various boxes of Steve’s things are lined up along one side of the wall. All that’s left is the dresser, and it sits innocently between Bucky and Lukin. “Well. I seem to have come at a bad time.” Aleksander kisses Vanya on her temple, smiles at her, and speaks to her affectionately. “ _I’m so glad that I got to see you today, Princess! You’re growing so quickly now, aren’t you? I hope to see you again very soon, but I need to go back home, now._ ”

Bucky, surprised at the very sudden change, clears his throat. "You don't have to leave." He assures. "We're just about done, this was the last piece of furniture that we had to move... We were going to call for pizza. You're more than welcome to stay and have dinner with us."

“Oh, I’m sure,” Aleksander says, not unkindly. “But I really ought to leave you to your plans. Just seeing Vanya for even this brief amount of time has made the trip well worth my while.” He doesn’t look entirely thrilled at the idea of leaving so soon, despite the words he spoke. Bucky tried two more times to invite Aleksander inside, but both attempts failed, and soon Vanya was hugging her Grandfather goodbye as he got back into his car. Bucky picked her up to keep her well out of the way of the vehicle when it was started up, and then waved once in farewell. Aleksander smiled grimly at Bucky as he waved goodbye in return - he waved to Steve once too, over his shoulder, and then wiggled his fingers at Vanya before he pulled off of the curb and drove off down the street.

“ _Why didn’t Grandpa stay?_ ” Vanya asked, pouting just slightly as she watched the black car turn the corner. She stopped her enthusiastic waving and slouched against Bucky’s shoulder, heaving a tiny sigh against his neck.

“ _Well, I guess he’s busy. But he wanted to come and see you. That’s okay though, you’ll see him more some other time, right?_ ” When Vanya nodded, Bucky kissed the top of her head and then set her back on the ground, playfully swiping at her behind as she scampered back up the driveway. “ _Pick up your blanket and toys, okay? We’re going inside as soon as we move this into the garage._ ” Vanya trots off to do just that, and Bucky turns to look at Steve, just in time to catch his confused expression before he hastily tries to mask it. “What?” Bucky wonders.

“Nothing. Just…” Steve shrugs and grabs one end of the dresser, mirroring Bucky’s movement, and they both lift and begin to carry it up the driveway and into the garage. “I hope that wasn’t awkward for you. And I hope that he didn’t leave because of me.”

Bucky concentrates on moving the dresser and doesn’t answer right away, but inside of the garage he pats Steve on the back as soon as his hands are free. He rubs a gentle circle in between his shoulder blades. “It wasn’t awkward.” Bucky said, and then snorted when Steve raised an eyebrow at him. Steve had heard stories about Aleksander, and Bucky often forgot just how much he had told. “Well, a little. But not too bad. He’s probably just a little grossed out, but he’ll come around. He’s gonna have to if he wants to come and see Vanya whenever he wants. It’s not like you’re moving out anytime soon.”

“Yeah.” Steve says, softly. He sounds like he’s still a little bit apologetic, so Bucky claps him on the back once, roughly, where he had been previously rubbing. Steve’s surprised cough turns into a laugh, and Bucky gets a shove to the shoulder in retaliation. “Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Steve says, and flashes Bucky an amused grin. “Especially not without a U-Haul.”

That sparks a rather well-used line of conversation to life as Bucky and Steve walk inside of the house, Vanya leading the way. “I’d say. Seriously,” Bucky starts, predictably. “I don’t know what you had to do in college in order to afford a car like that, but it must have been pretty demanding.”

“I keep telling you, it was a gift from a friend!” Comes Steve’s practiced response. He looks exasperated already. Bucky kinds of wants to kiss him all over.

“Right, a friend.” Bucky winked. “Let me guess, all you had to do was dress up for him and call him daddy--ghh!” Steve sent his elbow flying suddenly, digging it in briefly but sharply in between Bucky’s ribs, hard enough to make him choke on his words. “Augh, fuck you.” Bucky groaned, rubbing his side. Steve gave him a shit-eating grin, retracting the spiny point of his arm from against Bucky’s side.

“Maybe later.” Steve said in a conspiratorial whisper - Vanya wasn’t anywhere nearby, nor did she understand English, but Steve was always careful about what he said around her anyway. Bucky could appreciate the gesture and often mimicked it, himself. “If you aren’t too tired later, that is.”

Bucky felt a little better, seeing that glint in Steve’s eye that said he wanted to fool around after dark. Maybe Steve would make it up to him for jabbing him in the chest like he’d just done - and maybe Bucky would make it up to Steve for saying he’d had a sugar daddy in college. Either way, they were both completely content with one another just a few minutes later. Bucky set about ordering their dinner over the phone while Steve scooped Vanya into his arms and sat down with her on the couch, rifling through the coloring book she had been scribbling on outside. Steve praised her in a language that Vanya didn’t understand, but the thumbs-up was pretty universal and soon she was grinning and settling in comfortably against Steve’s chest while Steve admired her artwork.

Their pizza arrived thirty-five minutes later, and the three of them ate at the dinner table together, Steve and Vanya communicating through Bucky more than half the time. After dinner there was dessert, courtesy of Clint Barton who had made them a ‘congrats on deciding to share living space’ cake. It was too sweet for Bucky to eat more than one small slice, Vanya mostly ate the strawberries decorating the top, but Steve’s plate was practically licked clean by the time he was done.

And later, after Bucky had tucked Vanya into bed, he went to his bedroom and was promptly made up to by Steve. He might have done some making up in return, too, but the details weren’t all too important to him so long as Steve was curled up against his side by the end of the night. There were no worries of sneaking him out in the morning, and Bucky was looking forward to cooking for three. He was thinking pancakes.

That night the house was quiet and peaceful as everyone slept, dreaming pleasantly. It was a good first day of Steve and Bucky’s journey of living together. So good that, by the time the first rays of dawn started to seep through Bucky’s curtains, their encounter with Aleksander Lukin had long since been put out of their minds.

**xii**

“That smells disgusting.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first five times.” Bucky doesn’t stop adding cabbage to the pot of boiling water despite Steve’s rather childish complaints, and even makes a point of eating a few chunks of it raw. Steve makes a noise of disgust. “Delicious.” Bucky taunts, grinning over his shoulder at Steve, who sits at the kitchen counter, feet propped up on the beam of his stool.

“Your breath is going to stink.” Steve complains. Bucky blows him a kiss, and Steve rolls his eyes. “If she’s sick, why don’t you just make her chicken noodle soup, instead of this?”

“Because _this_ is what she wanted.” Bucky said calmly. “Vanya loves this stuff. Besides, cabbage soup is good for you.” He lowers the heat on the stove after he's added the last of the cabbage, stirring it in with the other vegetables before he leaves it alone to simmer. “If you’d stop being such a big baby and actually tried it, you might surprise yourself by liking it. I could make it every time _you_ get sick.” Lord knows Steve could use it, what with how easily he caught colds.

Steve taps his chin with one finger, looking thoughtful. After a moment he shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe. But for now I think I’ll play it safe and go grab myself a Big Mac. Just in case.” Bucky shoots him an irritated glare, and Steve smirks.

“You’re gonna either get really fat, or you’re going to clog your arteries.” Bucky grumbles.

“You tellin’ me that you won’t love me if I get fat?” Steve chuckles.

“Fat? Sure. But if you die of a heart attack in your thirties, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Steve’s expression fell, just a bit, and Bucky was somewhat taken aback by it. “No, I’m...I won’t. Not so early, I mean, and hopefully not of a heart attack.” Steve muttered. He looked down at the kitchen counter, fiddling with the pencil he had been drawing with. “I wouldn’t check out so soon, Buck.”

Bucky looked down at Steve’s drawing; it was hard to make out, considering that Steve had his hand resting in the center of the paper, but Bucky could make out a few doodles here and there. Stars, a shield, and a few costume designs for his comic book characters. He considered Steve’s sobering response just then and sighed. “I know you wouldn’t.” Bucky eventually said, and leaned over the counter to snag a kiss while Steve was within range. Pulling away after the fact, Bucky winked and said, “I’m going to feed you so much cabbage, and so many beets, that you’ll eventually lose all desire to eat McDonald’s. You’ll be totally fine.”

Steve laughed, shoulders relaxing, and shook his head. “You’re crazy.” He muttered, starting to sketch again. The sound of his pencil on the paper was somewhat soothing and Bucky grinned while he turned back towards the stove.

“I’ve been called worse.” Bucky said over his shoulder. He stirred the soup as it simmered, adding salt and a few more tomatoes after a tentative taste from the spoon. He was going to add more onions as well, but paused when he glanced over at the cutting board and found it bare. The remaining onion, which he had left out just in case, was nowhere to be found. “Steve,” Bucky says, turning around. He wondered if he had set the onion elsewhere, by mistake. “Have you seen my onion?”

“Your what?”

“My onion. White, round, makes people cry.” Bucky waved his hand as he searched in vain. “I don’t...I thought that I put it on the cutting board…” He muttered.

Steve also cast a glance around the kitchen. “Maybe you put it back in the fridge.” He eventually suggested.

Bucky wasn’t exactly convinced, but he doubled back to check the refrigerator anyway. He checked inside, and in the crisper, on the shelf on the inside of the door, but saw no trace of the missing vegetable. “Hm.” He grumbled. “That’s weird…” Closing the door and turning to look back at Steve, Bucky also took notice of Vanya as she wandered back into the kitchen. Up until now she had been quietly curled up on the couch in the living room, watching a movie. She had woken up that morning with a slight fever and a case of the sniffles, and was naturally spending the day being doted on while her Father nursed her back to health. She was in her pajamas, Sprinkles tucked carefully underneath one arm, and was sinking her little white teeth straight down into the missing onion that Bucky had been hunting for. "Uhm." Bucky said eloquently, surprise halting what should have been a knee-jerk reaction. He sprung into motion a second later. " _Vanya! Sweetheart, what are you doing?_ " His tone of voice and the volume of it made Vanya startle, and he quickly tried to compose himself. Behind the counter, he saw Steve twist in his chair to get a look at Vanya, and then Bucky heard him snort out a laugh before he muffled it into his shoulder.

“ _Eating._ ” Vanya said. Her mouth is full, and her eyes look a little watery - from the onion vapors, Bucky hopes, not from the start he gave her - and her breath is hissing through her teeth while she chews. “ _I’m hungry._ ”

“ _But that’s an onion, honey._ ” Bucky says. He walks over to her and strokes her hair gently out of her face, offering her a small smile. He can’t quite believe it when he sees that the onion is already at least one third of the way eaten. Teeth marks tell him that she’s been at this for a few minutes - it wouldn’t surprise him, really. He’d gone out to check the mail a few minutes ago, and Steve had been in the bathroom...surely she would have had time to nab the vegetable while they weren’t looking. “ _Here, let me have it. The food is almost done._ ”

“ _No, Papa._ ” Vanya says. She twists sideways, avoiding his hand as he reaches out to reclaim the onion. She looks more pleading than petulant. “ _I like it._ ” A few minutes of needling did nothing to loosen Vanya’s hold on the onion, so eventually Bucky threw in the towel and let her keep it. He sends Vanya back to the couch to rest, then looks at Steve and shrugs his shoulders.

“She likes it.” Bucky explains. "I can't believe she likes it."

Steve laughs. “I can." He says. "And that is _not_ natural. She’s four. She eats better than I do, probably.” He teases.

“I _know_ she eats better than you. Definitely.” Bucky says. He side-steps a swipe that Steve makes for his head and chuckles, winking at the other man before turning back to the soup at the stove. “At least she didn’t eat the skin.” He mutters, thinking it was a good job that he’d peeled it beforehand.

It’s a few minutes later, as Bucky serves Vanya a bowl of soup and some hot dinner rolls, he hears a series of swift, loud, knocks on the front door. He finishes setting all of the dishes onto a small tray over Vanya’s lap, then calls out “I’ve got it!” so that Steve knows not to bother with rushing for the front door. “ _Eat your soup, Princess. It’ll make you feel better._ ” Bucky says affectionately. He brushes back some of Vanya’s dark hair from her face, then stands straight and heads for the door, answering it just as the person on the other side rings the doorbell. “Yeah?” Bucky says, peering around the side of the door.

The man standing in the doorway is well dressed in gray business attire, not very tall, with blond hair cropped military-short, close-set green eyes, and a crooked nose dominating his long face. His expression might have been cut from stone for all the focus it has, and Bucky is instantly on alert. In one hand, the man is holding an envelope, white with black Cyrillic neatly written on the front, and his other hand is pressed against his side, visible but not in use. “James Barnes.” The man says. His accent, which is clumsy at best, is Russian. His voice is a rich bass, though it’s rather toneless - he is very clearly here for a reason and isn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

“That’s me.” Bucky says. He leans against the door frame. “Can I help you?”

The man wordlessly holds out the letter. When Bucky hesitates, he says, “This is for you. Aleksander Lukin wanted this letter to be personally delivered to you. He also wants me to relay a message.”

“A message _and_ a letter?” Bucky asks. He takes the envelope and turns it over in his hand. It’s stamped and addressed correctly, as if it were _meant_ to go through the mail, but it hadn’t been dated by any postal service. “Okay.” Bucky looks up at the man again, one eyebrow climbing up his forehead. “Do I read the letter first, or are you gonna…?”

“I will give you the message, first.” The stranger says. He only waits for another second before he begins to recite Lukin’s message, voice the same steady, emotionless, baritone. “Aleksander would like for you to consider moving back to Russia, Mr. Barnes. He can not only guarantee you a higher position and better pay at Roxxon Oil, but he wants to assure you that your daughter will lack for nothing. Between the two of you, she will have the best of everything from clothes to education. He also wants you to understand that to move back would be for the best.” This naturally takes Bucky by surprise. He hasn’t gotten the impression that Aleksander is still bitter about his move to America, given how often the man has come by for visits. Aleksander seemed happy enough although, looking back, Bucky supposes that the last time Aleksander was here, he hadn’t been very happy about Steve moving in.

The man in the business suit continues speaking, even while Bucky tries to wrap his head around the idea of Lukin sending this man all the way across the ocean just to tell him to move back to Russia. “Should you refuse, Mr. Barnes,” The stranger says, “Aleksander would like for you to know that he’s become aware of your daughter’s status as a US citizen.”

Bucky’s head snaps up. His eyes tear away from the front of the envelope and he’s _furious_. He steps outside of his house and shuts the door quietly behind himself. He doesn’t want either Steve or Vanya to overhear this conversation. The stranger takes a step back to give him space. Wise, considering the fact that Bucky isn’t in any mood for playing games. This man brought Vanya into this mix, and Bucky isn’t about to take that lightly. “My daughter’s status as a US citizen? What the hell does that mean?”

The man doesn’t miss a beat. “Your daughter is not legally a citizen of the United States of America, Mr. Barnes. Should you fail to comply with Aleksander’s request and move back to Moscow, any legal action he pursues to gain custody of your daughter will undoubtedly end in his favor. For this reason, Aleksander does not wish to go to any extreme measures. He simply wishes for his family to be back in Russia, where he feels he can better help you and your daughter not only stay together, but live a better life.”

Bucky feels like gravity suddenly increased on him. He wants to sit down, put his head in his hands, and calm down. His head is swimming, mind racing, replaying the words the stranger had said so casually, over and over again. _Your daughter is not legally a citizen of the United States of America._

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky mutters. He’s still fuming, perhaps even moreso now than before. He feels betrayed, in some odd way, thinking that Aleksander has been all but lying to his face, pretending to be at peace with the fact that Bucky and Vanya live in Brooklyn, now. All Bucky can think as he looks at the stranger on his porch is, this guy doesn't have have a clue, and, what a poor excuse for an intimidation tactic. “I’m not moving back to Russia. Aleksander already knows that. I don’t know who you are or why he sent you, but it’s clearly been a waste of your time, and mine.”

“Mr. Barnes, I would not be so quick to refuse this offer.” The stranger says. Bucky is irritated that he doesn’t know his name. “It’s a very generous one. A job guaranteed to not only be easier than your current one, but one that pays well enough for you to live without worry in a country where your daughter can thrive. She will be with her Grandfather, and you will have every door opened for you in the process of buying a car, a home, and anything else that you could possibly want or need.” This is rehearsed, Bucky realizes as he listens to the man drone on and on about how wonderful life in Russia would be should he go back. There’s no real indication of this in the man’s voice, since he speaks so monotonously, but Bucky knows a well-prepared speech when he hears one.

“No thanks.” Bucky says. “I have a great life here, as you can probably tell.” He gestures at their surroundings - the porch of the home he is in the process of buying, the two cars in the driveway, the bed of flowers in the front yard that Steve insisted on planting just last week. “I don’t want to go back. If Aleksander wants to see Vanya, then he can continue to come and visit her for as long as he needs, just like he’s been doing for nearly a year now.” He’s clutching the letter in his hand so tightly that the envelope is beginning to show signs of tearing. “Now go, sir, because I don’t want to hear another word about Russia, or Lukin, and certainly not of my daughter’s citizenship. She belongs here, with me, and that’s the end of it.”

Bucky turns, opening the door to his home and pulling it open. He has it about three inches away from the frame when the man speaks again. “Aleksander Lukin knows many people, James. Many powerful men. He knows that your daughter is not a US citizen and, as I warned you, should he decide to create a custody battle over your daughter, the chances of you winning are extraordinarily unlikely. You will not only be shown as a man keeping a Grandfather from his only kin, but you will lose your daughter in the process.” Bucky whirls around at that, ready to retaliate with a few very colorful words, but he sees that the stranger is already walking away, back facing him. “You have exactly one month to comply with Aleksander’s wishes, James. I suggest that you get in contact with him as soon as possible, to let him know of your decision.”

Bucky is left seething on the front porch, watching the man as he calmly makes his way down the driveway, to his parked car next to the mailbox. Before the man gets into the vehicle, he looks back at Bucky, his expression as empty as ever, and says, “Make sure your decision is the right one, James. Custody battles can be such messy, painful, things. Especially for children.”

The car is gone only moments later, and Bucky finally has to stop glaring at the spot where the stranger’s car had once been parked. He’s breathing heavier, his body tense, and he can’t decide if he’s more angry than terrified or vice versa (it isn’t every day that someone comes to his door and tells him that his daughter has no ties to the country she’s living in and that someone across the globe can take her away on a whim).  He loosens his grip on Aleksander’s letter, still uneasy about the entire situation, then turns back towards the house and lets himself inside.

“Who was at the door?” Steve asks. Bucky finds him curled up on the couch now, next to Vanya who is still eating her soup and dinner rolls. Steve has his notebook in his lap and a pencil in his left hand but he’s not sketching, he’s looking expectantly at Bucky. His eyebrows twitch, drawing closer together for a moment, and Bucky realizes that he must still look either pissed off or scared and hastily tries to school his expression into place.

“Nobody.” Bucky says. “Well, nobody important. They delivered a letter. From Aleksander.” Looking down at the letter in his hand, Bucky finds that reading the Cyrillic is somehow more difficult than before. He realizes a moment later that his fingers are shaking. “I’m gonna...go read this. I’ll be back. Just...can you stay with Vanya? Please?” It means something, the fact that Bucky doesn’t even warn Steve not to sit too close to Vanya while she’s sick, and Steve picks up on this, dutifully nodding his head and not attempting to move from his spot on the couch.

“Sure.” Steve says. “Take your time. We’ll be here.” He has that look in his eye that says ‘I’ll be here if you need me’ and Bucky just nods, too worried to speak.

In his bedroom, Bucky sits in bed and opens the letter that Aleksander wrote him, reading and rereading the same hand-written passages over and over again until the lines start to blur together. It doesn’t make any sense - the letter is nowhere near as threatening as the message the man at the door had conveyed. Inside, all it contains are long paragraphs of pleas and promises - sugar-coated words intended to lure Bucky out of his new home and straight back to Moscow. It has to be sickeningly sweet and sincere, Bucky realizes, because if ever there is a custody battle, Bucky wouldn’t have anything worth showing that would make Aleksander look like he’d threatened him right off the bat. There’s really no other reason for the letter and separate verbal message, and it makes Bucky’s stomach churn. What had he ever done to warrant this?

Time passes quickly as he sits there worrying, until he’s snapped out of his reverie by a quiet knock on the bedroom door. Looking up, Bucky catches Steve poking his head around the door as he pushes it open, eyebrows raised in curious concern. “Buck?”

“Where’s Vanya?” Bucky asks. He clutches the letter in his hands a little tighter.

“Sleeping.” Steve assures. He steps into the bedroom, leaving the door open, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “She dozed off, so I put her in bed so she’d be more comfortable.” He smiles a little, and Bucky returns the expression somewhat shakily. Steve notices. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” He moves closer to the bed, eyes flicking down to the letter Bucky is holding in his lap and then back up to his face. He doesn’t press, but it’s obvious that he wants to know what the letter contained.

Bucky finds himself hesitating. He wants to tell Steve, of course, but the irrational side of him also wants to tear the letter to pieces and pretend that it never existed.

“Aleksander,” The rational side of him forces past his lips. “He wants me and Vanya back in Moscow.”

Steve is quiet. Taken by surprise just as much as Bucky is, no doubt. Just a moment later, however, he’s crawling up the bed to be at Bucky’s side, lying his head down against Bucky’s thigh as he stretches out over their mattress. “That’s what the letter says?” He asks as his arms slide around Bucky’s waist.

“Yeah.” Bucky mutters. He moves the letter out of the way to better accommodate Steve’s head as he pillows it in his lap. “Yeah, the letter is just...he wants us back. But the guy that delivered the letter…” Steve pulls the pages out of Bucky’s hand and squints at them from his relaxed position. He doesn’t read Cyrillic, so there isn’t any point to the gesture, but Bucky indulges him anyway. It frees up his hands and allows him to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers while his other hand supports his weight on the bed. “The guy who delivered the letter told me that if I didn’t move back with Vanya, Aleksander was going to take her from me. He’d start a custody battle. He said that Aleksander would win because Vanya isn’t even a US citizen - “

“ _What?_ ” Steve pushes himself up. His eyes are wide and full of concern as he studies Bucky’s expression, and Bucky can barely meet his eyes. “Buck, that’s serious. Is she - “

“Of course she is.” Bucky snaps, bristling. He calms himself a moment later, shoulders slumping and chest deflating as he heaves a sigh. “She’s a citizen. Her Mother and I filled out the papers after she was born. I don’t know why Aleksander is threatening me this way - or at all. I wouldn’t be so nervous about it if I knew just where the hell I put those forms in the first place. I need some proof of her citizenship in my hand right now in order to feel better and there’s just… I can’t remember where it is, or what happened to it.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve says. Bucky hasn’t realized that he’s been shaking until Steve puts a warm, steady hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “Buck, it’s all right. It’ll be fine.” He soothes. “Just take a breath, relax… You don’t remember where those papers are, at all?” Bucky shakes his head and watches Steve’s concerned expression morph into thoughtfulness. After a moment, his eyes widen about half an inch and he claps Bucky on the back once, gently. “If you don’t have the papers anywhere in the house, then I know one place that’s bound to have them.” Bucky raises an eyebrow, opens his mouth to ask where, but Steve talks over him. “The Russian Embassy.”

“Embassy?” Bucky repeats. He’s puzzled for a moment before the idea really sinks in, and he makes a small ‘oh’ sound of surprise.

“They’re bound to have Vanya on file, somewhere. They can probably give you copies of her papers.” Steve is smiling now, something secret and warm, and he kisses Bucky right on the side of his face, half on his nose and half on his cheek. Steve even makes a small smacking sound with his lips as he pulls away, which is impossible for Bucky not to grin at. “You can go there tomorrow. It’s a weekday, and you don’t work.” Another gentle clap on the back followed by a neck rub. “See? Everything is fine. It’ll get taken care of - I think Vanya’s Grandpa just misses her, that’s all. Probably gets lonely without any family nearby. I think that’d be enough to make anyone bitter enough to say things they don’t mean.”

“Maybe.” Bucky agrees, giving it some thought. He remembers leaving Russia, and the look of hurt and betrayal that Aleksander had given him just before Bucky had boarded the plane. He supposes that Steve is right. If anyone were to take Vanya away from Bucky, he has no idea what he would do with himself. He’d probably become just as angry and lonely as Aleksander, even to the point of jealousy.

It makes sense to think of Lukin as jealous, in a way. Not only was Aleksander completely against same-sex relationships in the first place, but Bucky imagines that seeing Steve moving in had upset the older man in some ways other than the obvious. After all, Steve gets to see Vanya every single day while her very own Grandfather has to fly over the ocean just to be in the same country as her - it’s sort of enlightening to give it some thought, and it makes Bucky feel a pang of sympathy for Aleksander.

“So, are you gonna be okay?” Steve wonders. “I mean, you can go to the Embassy tomorrow and get this sorted out. I can stay with Van - oh. Oh, I have that photo shoot in Harlem tomorrow. God, I almost forgot all about it.”

Bucky took a deep breath, then smiled and leaned over to kiss Steve on the temple, nuzzling against his cheek with his nose. “Don’t worry about it.” He murmured. “I’ll take Vanya with me.” He put an arm around Steve’s waist and, letter forgotten, pulled him down next to himself to lie down properly.

They kiss for a few minutes that way, legs tangled together and hands gently roaming over each other’s arms and faces. Eventually, Bucky pushes Steve onto his back and swings a leg over his hips, settling down on his thighs as they break apart for air. “Thanks, Steve.” Bucky says softly. He brushes back some blond hair from Steve’s face, admiring the shine and swell of Steve’s lips in the aftermath of their kissing.

“Mm.” Steve utters. “S’what I’m here for.” He says with a grin. He also lifts his hips off of the bed and rubs against Bucky’s ass, the cheeky bastard. “Everything’ll be fine. You’ll see.” He assures.

Bucky just chuckles. “Yeah, okay.” He continues combing through Steve’s hair with his fingers, enjoying the soft hums and sweet sighs the motions coax out of Steve’s throat. Steve runs his hands over Bucky’s hips in turn, pulling him close in slow, rolling, movements that he gently dictates. It’s a slow build, lazy and unhurried, and Bucky soaks it all in, feeling the tension from earlier start to fade. “Vanya’s sleeping, right?” Bucky asks, just to make sure.

“Yeah.” Steve all but purrs. “Like a rock.”

“Okay.” Vanya needs the rest, Bucky thinks. And while she rests, it gives both him and Steve time to each other.

Later that same night, while Bucky curls up close to Steve in the quiet moments after sex, he realizes that the hint of a flush that is staining Steve’s cheeks isn’t related to their, well, relations. Sure enough, as he puts the back of one hand to Steve’s forehead, he comes to the conclusion that the faint tremors Steve’s been exhibiting are also not related in any way to pleasure. Upon further investigation, Steve has a fever of one hundred degrees, on the money, and he’s apologetic the entire night as Bucky fusses over him with medicine and cold compresses to his forehead.

As for the letter, it had fallen to the floor during the couple’s activities and Bucky finds it the next morning, lying forgotten underneath a pile of clothes.

**xiii**

Two men in sharp looking black suits are approaching Bucky and Vanya from across the grand room of the Russian Consult.

The first man’s expression is hard to read, mostly due to the dark glasses he is wearing. His hair is a vibrant shade of red, nearly matching his tie, and he walks with a cane stretched out in front of himself as a guide - he’s clearly blind, but with his confident stride, Bucky doesn‘t realize it at first. The second man, slightly shorter than the first, has a blue and white striped tie and a stern expression set in stone on his face that makes him appear older than he probably is. If the lack of gray in his hair is natural, that is. Bucky watches as they first speak to the woman at the front desk before striding with confidence further into the lobby and towards both Bucky and Vanya.

Bucky waits and wonders why this had all gotten so complicated, so quickly.

As it turns out, Steve was right about turning to the Embassy - once inside, Bucky was assured that if his daughter was born in Russia, that they would have her birth record on file as well as any other documents showing her status as a Russian-born US citizen. Simple enough, in theory. What actually ended up happening was Bucky being told that there was a slight problem (that was apparently above the Consultant’s pay grade to disclose) and to wait in the lobby while the secretary called in some Ambassadors from the United Nations. He couldn’t get an answer about why they needed to be here, but Bucky figures that the two men making a beeline for him will be more than component enough to explain. He stands when the other two men are less than three feet away.

“James Barnes?” The shorter man asks. His eyes are as serious and no-nonsense as his tone of voice.

“That’s me.” Bucky says. He adjusts his hold on Vanya, settling her onto his left hip, one arm under her behind in order to keep her perched there. This frees up Bucky’s right arm, and makes shaking hands with both men much easier. Vanya sniffles, still recovering from her cold, but takes to the rearranging much easier than Bucky expects. All of her restless energy has drained from her in the presence of strangers, and she‘s decidedly quiet as she rests in the cradle of Bucky‘s arm.

“I’m Phil Coulson and this is Matt Murdock.” The shorter man, Phil, explains as he gestures between himself and his associate. “We’re from the United Nations.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Bucky remarked. He figured that he probably shouldn’t be so waspish to the men that were only here to help him, but waiting for so long in a lobby with an ill and cranky four-year-old wasn’t an easy task, and he was running on very little sleep.

“We’re here to mediate as you meet with the Russian Ambassadors.” Phil continues, nonplussed.

Bucky pauses; he hadn‘t been told that he was going to be meeting with Ambassadors from Russia. His stomach is starting to feel a little uneasy. “Been waiting over an hour for someone to get here.” He says eventually, some of the irritation from before falling flat in the wake of his newfound confusion.

“Apologies. See, if Phil had let _me_ drive, we would have been here much sooner.” The taller man, Matt, suddenly speaks up. Bucky stares at him for a moment, takes in the sight of the cane and the glasses, and isn’t entirely sure if he’s meant laugh or not - Phil isn’t even so much as smiling, so maybe Bucky should just remain quiet. Luckily, Matt only gives him another two seconds of silence before he grins and breaks the tension. “Of course, if I had driven us we probably wouldn’t have made it four feet without an accident.” He shrugs, and then folds one hand over the other, propping them both up on the top of his cane. “In all seriousness, we got here as fast as we could and as soon as we were informed.”

“Right.” Bucky eyes Matt once more before looking over at Phil. The man looks like he might have been carved out of stone for how often his expression shifts. “So, what happens now? You guys go in there to talk to them and get my daughter her papers?”

Matt presses his lips together. “Not exactly.” He says. “We’ll go into the meeting with you of course, but not to speak on your behalf. We’ll interject when needed, but our job is to find out what the problem is, and resolve it as best as we can with minimal frustration for both parties.”

“Well,” Bucky scoffs. “I’m not the one making things difficult.”

“Let’s discuss this further in private.” Matt says, and lowers his voice as he does. “You can fill us in on the situation as a whole and we can figure out what the real problem is. There’s an office available two floors up where you will be meeting the Ambassadors. We can request privacy before anything actually starts.”

“Okay.” Bucky figures that he might as well just smile and nod at this point. He still has no idea about what’s going on, so he decides to let the Ambassadors do most of the work for him.

Phil puts a hand on Matt’s elbow and guides him for a short while, until the two of them are walking back towards the front of the room and the secretary’s desk. There, all three people speak for a short while. There‘s a grand staircase with marble steps and intricate gold rails parallel to the lobby, and Phil guides Matt towards it with a barely-there hold on his elbow. As they’re passing once more in front of the lobby, Phil looks sidelong at Bucky and nods his head. “This way, please.” Phil says. He continues walking, but glances back over his shoulder a moment later to check that he was actually being followed. Bucky is out of his seat, gathering Vanya’s crayons and coloring book, but he’s right on the Ambassadors’ heels a moment later, trying not to stare too hard at all of the little details carved into the rails of the staircase.

“ _Papa._ ” Vanya says in a whisper. She leans close and puts her arms around Bucky’s neck. “ _I’m hungry._ ”

Bucky glances sideways at his daughter and smiles in sympathy. She looks tired, but she had yet to complain of any such thing; her nose is red, and her eyes are drooping. Vanya has been good all morning, Bucky thinks. She had waited with him with very minimal fussing, and Bucky doesn’t like that she’s ready for lunch and there’s no end to this mess in sight. He hopes that with both of the US Ambassadors here to help, that they’ll be finished soon so that he can properly reward Vanya for being so patient and well-behaved. “ _You know what? I‘m hungry, too._ ” He tells her. “ _I promise that I’ll buy something to eat as soon as we’re done here. Okay? Just a little bit longer and we can go._ ”

Vanya sighs, breath warm and sweet against Bucky’s cheek, and then drops her head to rest on his shoulder. She bobs her head up and down in a nod and squeezes onto him a bit firmer. He rubs her back comfortingly, climbing upstairs as he does so. Matt and Phil are ahead of him by four steps, guiding him through the extravagant hallways adorned with pictures and paintings hanging on the walls that Bucky sometimes finds slightly familiar in scenery.

Upstairs and at the end of a long, lavishly decorated hallway, behind a heavy mahogany door with spectacular carvings, is a large room with ornate floor-to-ceiling molding trimmed with gold. The floors are a sleek brown tile with intricate patterns, and Bucky’s sneakers squeak on it when he steps inside, while both Ambassadors’ shoes (and Matt’s cane) click sharply with each step. Ivory colored curtains with gold trim hang on either side of each window, three in total, and the sheer panels that remain allow just enough light into the room to be bright and comfortable without glaring obnoxiously off of the decorative items inside.

Just in front of the window there are two three-person couches facing one another; they’re cream colored, the frames all covered in elegant designs, and they’re resting on top of a very ostentatious rug, which is all rich hues and complex patterns. There are chairs set up along the west side of the room, all lined up neatly in one long row. Their build and color the exact same as the couches, only difference being their backs, round and sophisticated, while the couches have low, swooping, features. A coffee table rests between the two couches, looking pristine and unscathed and still ridiculously tasteful. Bucky feels horrendously poor and under dressed within two seconds.

“God,” Bucky breathes. His voice sounds odd as it reverberates off of the floor and walls. “There’s a hole in my left sock right now. No one can see it, but I know it’s there. And damn…if that doesn’t make anybody feel like crap, I don’t know what will.”

“I take it that the room is…loud.” Matt says, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stands patiently in the center of the room while Phil goes to close the door behind Bucky and Vanya.

“This isn’t the side of Russia that I’m used to seeing.” Bucky mutters. “Not regularly, anyway. They have a chandelier in this room. In my first apartment over there, I had one naked light bulb dangling over my kitchen table.”

“There are people besides myself who might be better able to sympathize with you.” Matt responds with a dry note to his voice. He’s still grinning though, so Bucky doesn’t think that he’s offended him. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.” Matt continues, and turns slightly, cane tapping at the ground. It isn’t long before Phil is back, helping to guide Matt towards the sofa, and Bucky follows, sitting down besides Matt while Phil claims a spot across from both of them.

Vanya squirms as Bucky puts her in his lap, twisting herself around until she’s got her legs on either side of his waist and her head pillowed on his collarbone. She clutches at his shirt and peeks at Matt from the corner of her eye as she rests there, Bucky’s hand rubbing a gentle circle on her back.

“All right. Tell us what’s going on, James.” Matt prompts.

Bucky sighs, resting his chin gently on top of his daughter’s head. “Honestly? I have no clue. I just came in here to get proof of my daughter’s US citizenship. The consultant made some calls and then told me that I’d have to meet with Russian Ambassadors. But she never said anything about Vanya’s citizenship, and when I asked about it, I got a general ‘I can’t talk about it’ runaround answer.” He furrows his brow, mildly concerned but mostly just frustrated at the long wait and lack of clarification.

“Vanya’s grandfather, back in Russia, sent word that he wants me to move back. I guess he can‘t accept the fact that I‘ve decided to make a life with my daughter here in America, and he‘s upset to the point of threatening a custody battle which is…ridiculous.” Bucky is conducting this portion of the meeting in English, afraid that Vanya will understand more than he wants her to, if he speaks in Russian. While his own feelings towards Aleksander are something rather hostile at the moment, that doesn’t mean that he’s prepared to say rude things about the man when Vanya is in the room. That’s still her grandfather, after all. Vanya seems bored now, instead of curious, and squirms once more. She asks for Bucky’s cell phone in a shy murmur that her Father has to lean down in order to hear. “I just want to have proof that she belongs here.” Bucky finishes, shushing Vanya gently in the next second with a swift bounce of the knee she sat perched on.

“Vanya’s grandfather. Not your own Father, I’m assuming.” Matt says. He’s got his head tilted to the side in a manner that makes him look concerned and curious. Phil is across from them both, one leg over the other and his hands resting in his lap; he hasn’t spoken again since the lobby, but he’s obviously paying attention and has found certain things to be of interest, if Bucky is reading his facial cues (however minimal they are) correctly.

“No,” Bucky is fishing his cell phone out of his back pocket with some difficulty. “My late wife’s Father. Aleksander Lukin.” He hands Vanya her prize and then lets her rearrange herself again in order to be more comfortable as she finds a game on his phone to play.

“All right, that‘s pretty tame.” Matt begins, and pauses when music starts to pour out of the tiny speakers on Bucky’s phone. Matt chuckles a bit and Bucky fumbles to turn the sound off. When the device is silent again, Matt presses on, unperturbed. “Don‘t get me wrong, sometimes these kinds of things can get complicated, and Russia is very strict when it comes to their children, but for the most part - ” Two sharp knocks on the door interrupt Matt this time, and he tilts his head to one side while Phil and Bucky both whip their heads around in order to peer at the doorway. “Yes?” Matt calls, barely missing a beat.

The handle on the door twists suddenly, before the entire door is pushed open and a head of blonde hair pokes inside. It’s a woman, mid-thirties at least, with an apologetic expression that only seems half-sincere. “Pardon the interruption,” She greets, accent heavier than the workers that Bucky had spoken to beforehand. “But the Russian Ambassadors would like to meet with Mr. Barnes as soon as possible.” She addresses Bucky with a small nod of her head as she mentions his name. “If there aren’t any objections, then they would like to join you for your meeting, now.”

Matt doesn‘t seem ready to jump in and speak, so Bucky supposes that Phil is the best person to rely on, here. When Bucky looks at Phil, who has been silently listening and observing, the man is studying the woman in the doorway. It takes only a heartbeat before Phil turns his head so that he can meet Bucky’s eyes, almost as if he can sense when he’s being watched. “Do you have any problem with starting the meeting right now?” Phil asks. His expression isn’t giving away much, so Bucky doesn’t think that there’s a ’right’ or ’wrong’ answer to be given.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, the one that Vanya isn’t leaning against, and searches one last time for any facial cue from Phil before he answers. When he still isn‘t able to discern anything from the set of Phil‘s jaw or the furrow of his brow, Bucky sighs. “No.” He says simply. “Not really. I kinda wanna get this thing settled as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll let them know. They will be joining you shortly.” The woman in the doorway wastes no time in lingering or making pleasantries. She closes the door behind herself as she steps out, and Bucky can hear the sharp clack of her heels as she walks down the hall, away from the room.

“ _How much longer?_ ” Vanya asks, mumbling slightly as she sits in Bucky’s lap. Bucky glances down as she taps at the screen of his phone, playing some game that Steve had downloaded for her. He isn’t sure if she knows exactly what she’s supposed to be doing in the game, but she likes the bright colors nonetheless.

“ _Not long._ ” Bucky promises. “ _Just be good and play your game for a while longer._ ” He pats down some hair on Vanya’s head that came loose from her braid, drawing her closer against his chest as he does so. She heaves a sigh against his chest, and he kind of wants to do the same out of solidarity. He imagines that he feels just as tired, bored, and hungry as she does, and wants this mess to get settled as quickly as possible. He looks up again at Phil, finding the man was rising to his feet and smoothing down his jacket. “This shouldn’t take too long…” Bucky ventures. “Right?”

“It shouldn’t.” Phil replies. “It varies from time to time. As Matt was saying, Russian law is very strict when it comes to children. We can only hope that there aren’t going to be too many bumps in the road.” He’s looking at Bucky very seriously, and Bucky suddenly feels very unsure of himself under that powerful gaze.

While Bucky distinctly remembers he and Darya starting the process that would have labeled Vanya as a citizen of the US, he suddenly realizes, for the first time since he’s gotten here, that perhaps not everything is as he imagined. Maybe something’s wrong. Why else would Phil be looking at him so expectantly? And if something is wrong, Bucky realizes that he might know what it is, and the idea churns his stomach.

Bucky is just about to panic and say that he changed his mind, he wants more time to talk things over, when Matt places a cautious, warm, hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be intimidated by the what-ifs. Just relax. We’re here to help you and your daughter. If something is getting out of hand, either Phil or I will speak for you.” Matt’s wrist brushes the top of Vanya’s head with this motion. He doesn’t seem surprised by this, but he still pauses a moment before he smiles softly and adjusts his reach so that he’s able to pat Vanya’s dark locks of hair and messy braids. “ _Vanya is a very pretty name._ ” He tells the little girl, and Bucky is only surprised by his Russian for about five seconds. Of course one or both Ambassadors present are bound to know enough Russian to get by if they plan on being any help at all.

“ _Thanks._ ” Vanya says in a soft voice, clearly still a bit shy around new people and strange surroundings. Bucky rubs her back again until Matt removes his hand and Vanya relaxes once more. Her attention slowly drifts back to her game, but Bucky can see her turning her head every now and again, in order to peer up at Matt. The fact that he spoke Russian probably calmed her down, some, Bucky thinks. She must really miss understanding people when they speak to her.

Phil is moving now, walking away from the couch where he had previously been sitting, and rounding the one where Bucky sits with Vanya and Matt. When Bucky chances a glance back at him, he sees that Phil is standing in parade rest just behind them, face still set in stone. He looks ready to take the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, if those happen to be his orders, Bucky thinks. It’s comforting in an eerie sort of way, but Bucky would rather be left wondering what Phil’s thinking and feeling as the man stands behind him rather than have Phil on the opposite side of the meeting to come.

It isn’t too much longer after that when there is the sound of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching the door. Bucky turns his head to look, gathering Vanya into his arms and standing when Matt rises from his seat. If everyone is going to be standing, then Bucky might as well join them and not risk looking disrespectful or something, right off the bat. The door opens just as Bucky straightens up, and two men walk through the door just moments later.

One man looks to be in his late fifties and wears a decorated Russian military uniform, hair thin and gray at the top of his head. The other gentleman is middle-aged, has more brown in his hair than silver, and is fitted in a crisp, well tailored, suit. Both Russian Ambassadors look up sharply and then narrow their eyes at Bucky when he lets out a poorly timed expletive. Vanya had lost her grip on Bucky’s phone at the exact moment that two men stepped into the room, and it had slipped past Bucky’s fumbling hand as he tried to catch it mid-air. The phone slammed first into the corner of the coffee table, face down, before it tumbled the rest of the way down to the floor and landed none-too-softly despite the carpet. The ensuing silence is deafening, and Bucky swears that all of the blood in his body is collecting in his face. He feels as if he’s about to swoon from the heat in his cheeks alone, but suppresses the urge with a few deep breathing exercises.

The older Russian gentleman clears his throat, then shuts the door firmly behind himself after a moment longer of silence. Matt is the one to ease the tension somewhat, by cocking his head to the side and asking, “That was a cell phone, wasn’t it?” He sighs. “Yeah, I heard that one loud and clear. Savor it, if it’s lying face down. Schrodinger’s phone: it is both broken and not broken at this very second.”

Bucky doesn’t respond verbally, just makes a noise at the back of his throat to let Matt know that he’d heard him. He squats down in order to pick up his cell phone, Vanya clutching his shirt to keep her balance. She’s mumbling an apology near his ear, and he turns his head in order to kiss her on her forehead. “ _Shh. It’s okay._ ” He assures her. The phone is lying face down, as Matt predicted, and Bucky’s hand hovers over it while he repeats the mantra ‘please don’t be broken’ over and over again in his head. When he grabs his cell phone and turns it over in his hand, however, he has to swallow a sound of dismay. The upper right hand section of his screen is splintered from where it had bounced off of the coffee table. He doesn’t check to see if it’s still functioning or not, just stuffs the phone into his rear left pocket to worry about later. He prays that the glass doesn’t slip out and slice open his ass cheek when he sits down. Cursing in front of Russian Ambassadors while inside one branch of their Embassy was one thing, bleeding all over their furniture from a cut on his butt would be too much to handle.

“Good afternoon.” The younger of the two Russian Ambassadors begins. “I am Ambassador Baranov Daniil Petrov. This,” He motions with one hand to the older gentleman, who seems even more stony and silent than Phil is, if that’s at all possible. “is Ambassador Zakhar Victor Andreevich.” Petrov and Andreevich both shake hands with Phil, Matt, and Bucky when they step close enough to do so. Only Petrov acknowledges Vanya beyond a simple glance, and he pats her head gently before he steps out of arm’s reach. “Would you prefer this meeting to continue in English, or Russian?” He asks, then, looking at all three men in turn.

“Uh,” Bucky blurts when Matt says nothing and Phil turns his gaze on him. Bucky can only just see Phil out of the corner of his eye, now that the man has moved to stand  besides Matt on the other side of the couch. Everyone seems to be looking to Bucky for an answer to the question posed and, well, he supposes that makes sense. Bucky looks at Vanya as he holds her against his side, and thinks it over. Vanya is shrinking against him again, eyes on the room’s two new arrivals. She doesn’t understand their English and, Bucky thinks, he would rather that she didn’t. “English.” He answers at last, nodding at Petrov. “English is fine.”

Petrov nods at him, and then unbuttons his jacket as he lowers himself gracefully into the seat across from Bucky and both US Ambassadors. Matt and Bucky seat themselves as well, Matt following Phil’s guidance when the man puts a firm hand on his elbow. Andreevich is left standing. He has a heavy brow under which  green eyes flick rapidly from one American to the next, as if he were searching for something in particular. The light in the room makes the medals pinned to his officer’s uniform shine a bit, if Andreevich turns in just the right direction. Bucky knows what a few of those pins are for - military medals and pins along with a few from the UN decorate his uniform jacket and lapels. There’s a medal in there that is recognizing loyalty and merit to Russia as well as a couple that sport the iconic Soviet sickle and hammer, which is interesting to see, to say the least, but not uncommon in Bucky‘s experience.

It’s very clear that Andreevich is not only a man of valor and fealty to Russia, but he is also someone who has seen the world in just about every color there is. Andreevich looks like he’s seen the worst of the world as well as the best, and having the man’s impenetrable stare land on him makes Bucky feel like he’s about two feet tall. There’s nothing pleasant about knowing for a fact that you’re beneath someone in a social standing, and between the uniform and all of the medals that Andreevich is wearing, the obviously expensive and well-tailored suit that Petrov has on, and the room itself, Bucky doesn’t think that he’d ever feel this insignificant again even if he’d had the experience of being a butler in these men’s homes back in Russia.

Eventually Andreevich sniffs, nose wrinkling for the briefest of seconds as if he’s smelt something sour, and then he lowers himself down to sit besides Petrov. He keeps his back straight and his chin up, looking stuffy and humorless as he watches all three guests intently, all the while remaining silent. Bucky wonders what Andreevich is thinking when he stares too long and too hard at both him and Vanya, and if he should be concerned or not. He hasn’t seen this much arrogance since leaving Russia - he knew plenty of older men there who had the same air of superiority that Andreevich does, most of whom were veterans, themselves. So while Andreevich’s appearance and demeanor is nothing new to Bucky, the situation as a whole is, and he finds himself incredibly anxious over the whole thing.

“Firstly,” Petrov begins, once he sees that everyone is settled. Petrov has serious brown eyes and crows feet, and perched on the bridge of his long, narrow, nose is a pair of thin-rimmed reading glasses. He looks directly at Bucky as he speaks, tone and body language no-nonsense. His accent is rich, and familiar. It’s a bit haughty, but appropriately firm for a man of his standing. Bucky glances at the manilla folder that Petrov had carried into the room under his arm. It’s resting between both Russian Ambassadors now, untouched for the time being. “I would like to apologize to you, Mr. Barnes, for the delay. It has been a long wait for you and your daughter. But, now that Ambassador Andreevich and I are available, we can more swiftly take care of any problems that you’ve been having. I hear that the issue is with immigration. Would you like to further elaborate?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky says on a long exhale. He needs to relax, stop being so concerned about his own appearance in comparison to these two obviously professional men, and just explain himself. Now that they’re here to help, this can all get sorted out a lot faster, and the quicker that this gets taken care of, the better for him and Vanya. “I just came here to get proof of my daughter’s citizenship. I’m…not exactly sure what the holdup is, but that’s the gist of it.”

“I see.” Petrov says. He’s wearing a polite smile, something small but something still able to make the lines around his eyes appear deeper and longer. “This shouldn’t be a problem, Mr. Barnes. We’ll sort this out with just a little bit of assistance from you. All we need is the United States Customs and Immigration form that you filed upon your daughter’s birth.” This made Bucky’s thoughts freeze in place, and he blinked owlishly at Petrov. Petrov, for his part, seemed to notice that there was a slight hitch in the plan, and elaborated a bit. “We don’t appear to have it on file, so we can only assume that it’s in your possession.”

Vanya yawns and drops her head down heavily onto Bucky’s shoulder while she sits in his lap. She’s bored without his phone to play with, and Bucky can actually hear her stomach when it growls. She doesn’t whine or complain, but he knows that she would, if there weren’t strangers in the same room. Vanya is still sick. She’s tired, and hungry, and this meeting suddenly seems hugely unhelpful.

Bucky forces himself to swallow, feeling awful for not keeping any snacks in his pockets like Steve - he hates knowing that his daughter is going to miss lunch thanks to him.

“I…” Besides him, Matt cocks his head to the side, apparently focusing on Bucky more intently. Phil, who remains standing loyally besides the couch, doesn’t turn his head but moves his eyes so as to better see as Bucky furrows his brow and opens his mouth, prepared to inquire further about the needed document. He remembered the form in question, of course. He just didn’t understand why they wouldn’t have it with them, or on the computer. He doesn’t even have the faintest idea as to where that form might be back home, if he even still has it. It could have gotten lost during the move, and that’s a thought that he doesn’t want to expand upon. His worry from before starts to creep back over him. “I don’t…” He tries again, nervous.

“If you don’t have it with you right now, we can wait.” Petrov assures, his eyebrows shooting up quickly and his hand moving in a placating gesture. “There isn’t any rush, Mr. Barnes. Just bring in that file when you have the time, and the issue will be resolved.” Petrov relaxes again, smiling calmly, his hands folding over one another in his lap.

Petrov makes it sound so easy. Bucky nods along with the explanation, then sits in silence for a handful of seconds. He bounces Vanya on his knee gently as a nervous habit, and then scratches at the side of his nose. “Uhm.” He says. “What…what file do I need? Exactly?” It’s probably a stupid question. Bucky feels like he could have worded that a little better, and when both Petrov and Andreevich stare at him in perplexed unison, he thinks that he probably should have.

“I understand that it has been a considerable amount of time since then, Mr. Barnes.” Petrov says on a heavy sigh. He moves his hands out of his lap and removes his glasses, fishing out a cloth from his jacket pocket with which to clean them. He set to work calmly, eyes moving back up to watch Bucky even as he continues to hold and wipe his glasses in his lap. “I will describe the form and the process behind it - please try to remember. What we require is the completed Customs and Immigration Citizenship Packet. You would have first received this in Moscow before the birth of your daughter, and then completed it when you moved to the United States within the time allotted to you - this is usually about a year.” Bringing his glasses up for inspection, Petrov peers into the lenses as he holds them up to the light. He was apparently satisfied with his job of wiping them down, because he put them back on without any further incident. “That is the form, Mr. Barnes. Just bring us the completed form whenever you have the time and the issue will be resolved.” Petrov smiles then, and Bucky suddenly feels like he isn’t in on a joke.

Back in Russia, Bucky had taken Darya with him to the Embassy before Vanya had been born. They had applied for her citizenship, been given a form and, yes, he remembers the instructions now. The form they had been given was their placeholder, intended only as a means of saying that an American citizen was about to be born in Russia. They’d had a year to complete the form, starting from the day that Vanya was born. They had needed to take her and the Citizenship Packet to an Embassy in the United States, and from there, Vanya would have been given all of the basic information such as a social security number and a personal record - everything that she would have needed to be recognized as an American citizen.

The form in its beginning stage was not a means of citizenship all on its own, and Bucky’s fear from earlier slams home at last - he knows what the problem is, and he’s horrified when the realization strikes him. He had never completed the form. He had moved back to Brooklyn three years after Vanya was born, way past the time frame he was supposed to work with. And even if the time was right, he never visited the US Embassy upon his return. His daughter is not a citizen of the United States. His raw panic seems to be easily recognizable - Petrov looks concerned.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Barnes?” Petrov wonders.

“Uh,” Bucky says. His leg is still bouncing, but now it’s a lot more consistent and hard, and Vanya is squirming too much for him to continue that for too long, so he makes himself stop. He takes a deep breath and holds it, trying desperately to conjure words - any words, so long as that’ll help him fix the situation.

Petrov frowns, still seeming quite concerned. His eyebrows form a V between his eyes, and he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he straightens out. “Mr. Barnes,” He says. “You do have the file, don’t you?”

And before Bucky can stutter again, before he can put his foot in his mouth or make an ass out of himself, a strong hand comes down on his shoulder, snapping him out of the whirlwind his thoughts had become. Turning his head, Bucky sees Matt facing him, head tilted in his general direction. His jaw is set and he squeezes Bucky’s shoulder once, firmly, before he addresses the Russians, lifting his chin a bit and aiming his face towards them. “Pardon the interruption,” Matt says calmly, “but I would like a moment to speak with Mr. Barnes before we proceed.”

Petrov says nothing at first, his expression turning slightly guarded. Almost put upon. He looks to Andreevich for guidance, leaning in when the older man gestures for him to do so. Petrov tilts himself askew, towards Andreevich, and Bucky watches as Andreevich’s mouth moves with words so quiet that he can’t pick up on them. And then, straightening himself back out, Petrov once again joins the main conversation when he addresses Matt’s request. “Of course.” He says graciously. “By all means.”

“Thank you.” And then Matt has Bucky by the elbow, and he’s tugging him gently into a standing position. Bucky juggles Vanya for a bit before settling her once more on his hip, and then he follows Matt’s path to the direct opposite side of the room, nearest the exit, listening to the quiet tapping of the cane on the floor until they finally come to a stop. Matt turns slightly, giving his back to the Russians, and his hand on Bucky’s elbow prompts Bucky to do the same thing. “All right,” Matt says, his voice pitched low and secretive, “what’s going on?” He sounds apprehensive, but not necessarily upset, or annoyed. There’s a genuine, calm, interest that Matt has about the situation, Bucky feels, but it’s only slightly reassuring in the midst of the chaos at hand. “Tell me what has you so nervous, James. I need to know the entire situation before I can be of any help to you. I think you know that.”

Bucky _did_ know that. He also knew that he had a potentially serious issue staring him in the face, and he wasn’t quite sure of how to explain it to Matt (who made a living by dealing with laws and customs both domestic and international) without sounding like an absolute idiot and the worst possible person alive. But of course, he can’t pretend that nothing is wrong - Matt intervened for a reason.

“The file he’s talking about,” Bucky says quietly, opting not to beat around the bush, “I don’t have it.”

Matt says nothing. Instead he takes a moment to himself and breathes deeply through his nose - one long inhale, and then the same breath is being expelled after a handful of seconds. He doesn’t leave Bucky floundering for very long, but it’s long enough for that gut-wrenching anxiety to return, making the inside of Bucky’s mouth suddenly go dry. “Okay.” Matt nods. “To clarify: you do not have the Customs and Immigration Citizenship Packet with you, or you don’t have it at all?”

“I don’t have it at all.” Bucky confesses on a sigh. “I know what file he’s talking about. I started the process for Vanya before she was born. Got her Citizenship Packet and a date by which to get to the US and wrap things up. I just…I didn’t finish.” Bucky is speaking rapidly, now, the feeling of wanting to explain himself making him sound anxious and panicked. “Her mom, my - my late wife, she just…she was sick, you know? She was so sick after Vanya was born, and we couldn’t just pack up and move when she was too weak to even hold our daughter and stay upright at the same time. I wanted her to be as comfortable as possible, so we just…stayed in Russia. I stayed in Russia because my wife was dying and I wanted her to be completely stress free and at peace, not out of her element wondering where the hell she was going to be buried in a country she hadn’t lived in for very long.” Here, Bucky’s voice breaks, that ache in his chest that he thought he had overcome suddenly slams back into place. “I stayed an extra year past the date I was given for her Citizenship Packet, okay? I stayed in Russia past when I was supposed to and I never traveled to take care of it, so I know what he’s talking about, but I don’t have it completed because I thought - I just thought - ”

“Shh, shh,” Matt has been trying to quiet Bucky for a few moments now, presumably before the conversation became loud enough to be overheard by the Russian Ambassadors just a few feet away. At last his shushing seems to get through and Bucky gets a hold of himself enough to take a deep breath and keep it locked in his lungs, head bowing down as Matt braces him with a hand in the center of his back.

By the time that Bucky lets that same breath of air out slowly, Matt is speaking in a firm but very quiet tone again. “All right. I understand now James, thank you for telling me the truth about your situation. Now, having said that, I can tell you for a fact that the current issue at hand just became quite a deal more complicated.” He says it in that same calm tone of voice, very matter-of-fact - as if Bucky shouldn’t be horrified to hear this (which he is; very much so).

“What do you mean?” Keyed up, Bucky is shifting from foot to foot. The rocking that this imposes upon Vanya as she is held against his hip causes her to grip onto Bucky’s shirt even more tightly, for balance. “It’s already complicated. We can do something about this, can’t we?” There has to be something that can be done. His daughter is supposed to be a US citizen, not fair game for Aleksander should he decide to follow up on his second-hand threat for a custody battle over Vanya.

“ _Papa,_ ” Vanya says, and Bucky feels her press her small hand against the side of his face, forcing him to turn to look at her. It‘s a trick that he knows she’s picked up from Steve, who often times does the exact same thing to Bucky when he wants to focus his attention somewhere specific. Vanya’s eyebrows are pulled up in worry when Bucky faces her, but her eyes are that beautiful shade of blue that Bucky has learned to call his favorite color. Her irises are glistening with all the gold in the room reflecting off of them, and her gaze is very serious for a four-year-old. Bucky thinks, not for the first time, that he‘s got the most beautiful little girl in the entire world right here in his arms. “ _Papa, what‘s wrong?_ ”

“ _Shh,_ ” Bucky says, because he can only make that small sound for a moment, emotion forming a lump in his throat that mutes him momentarily. He feels sick as he gently places his hand over Vanya’s and removes it from the side of his face. He holds her hand lovingly and rubs his thumb over each of her tiny fingers systematically. “ _Don’t interrupt, Vanya. It’s all right._ ” He doesn’t actually know how ‘all right’ things are, and Vanya is smart - he can see that she doesn’t know what to make of his answer even if she says nothing more. She turns her attention to their hands instead, pressing them together to view the differences in size. Her hand looks incredibly delicate and almost doll-like fitted against his palm the way it is. Bucky focuses on that point of contact in order to steady himself when he addresses Matt once again, in English. “What can we do?”

“Right now, there’s very little to be done in this room.” Matt answers. At least he’s honest, Bucky thinks - though, he supposes that he’d probably be revering Matt a great deal more positively if the honest truth been worth hearing. “The fact of the matter is that having an incomplete Citizenship Packet means that your daughter is, by all technicality, a child of the Russian Federation. Now, before you work yourself up and panic, I want you to understand that this doesn’t mean that Vanya is going to be ripped out of your arms and shipped off to live an entire ocean away.” Matt slowly removes his hand from Bucky’s back, possibly convinced that Bucky isn’t about to completely melt onto the decadent tile floors beneath their feet. “I will be completely honest - this makes my job a whole lot more difficult. But does that mean that there’s no hope whatsoever in gaining your daughter’s citizenship? Absolutely not.”

Bucky breathes in and out slowly, wiggling his index finger when Vanya curls her whole hand around it. “Okay,” He sighs, a fraction less hysterical now thanks to Matt‘s calm demeanor. “So…what do I need to do? What do we say while we’re here?” He wonders, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable inside of this glamorous room. He has to get out of here before he says something wrong and makes the whole situation much worse than it already is.

“Right now, we’re pretty much going to stall.” Matt begins. He laughs under his breath a little around the same time that Bucky silently raises an eyebrow; it was as if Matt couldn’t quite believe his own advice either. “We’ll tell the Ambassadors that you’ll look for the Citizenship Packet as soon as you get back home and that you’ll return once you have it in your possession. Simple enough, right?” It is. Matt becomes serious again, his eyebrows dipping beneath the tops of his glasses as they furrow in thought. “I’ll start looking for a way to do this as simply and cleanly as possible. Getting her citizenship now that she’s older will take a great deal more time than it would have otherwise - years, James. And we might need cooperation from Russia a little further down the road, but for right now all we can do is look into starting the process. For that, you’re going to need me to do a little bit of research on your behalf, okay? I’ll sort out all the red tape and keep in touch to make sure you’re up to date, and then we’ll start moving forward from there.”

It’s a lot to take in - Bucky feels dizzy with just the idea that this is going to take years to complete. He’s able to keep his balance despite the way his head swims, and he hugs Vanya close, breathing in the smell of her kiddy shampoo as he revels in the thought that, no matter how long it takes, she’s going to become a citizen. She’s going to stay with him.

Still, there’s a dark thought that’s keeping Bucky from feeling complete relief and it is this: What if Aleksander tries to take her away before this process is over?

When Matt claps him gently on the arm and turns them both around, Bucky walks back to the couch besides him, feeling slightly more grounded than he had before. More in control. After they’re seated, Matt takes over, speaking as calmly as ever and as if he wasn’t about to possibly dedicate months of his time to fixing Bucky’s mistakes.

“Ambassadors,” Matt says, “we thank you for your time and efficiency in helping Mr. Barnes with his troubles. Seeing as we do not have on hand the document needed to resolve the issue, now would be the best time for Mr. Barnes to take you up on your offer to go home and look for this misplaced document. Once he’s procured it, then we will plan another meeting much like this one and hopefully bring a resolution to the whole complication entirely.” Bucky is enormously glad that he has Matt here - there’s no way that Bucky could have been anywhere near as eloquent and composed had he been here alone. Matt’s laidback exterior really helps break the tension in the room, at least for Bucky.

Petrov smiles at the gentle fluffing Matt did for his ego; he nods and is quick to agree. “Of course. As I said, take all the time you need, Mr. Barnes. We will be ready to assist you whenever you’re able to return with the proper paperwork. Again, I do apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Yeah.” Bucky nods. “Right - thank you. I really appreciate it.” Petrov and Andreevich stand, and after a moment Matt and Bucky join them.

“It’s been our pleasure to assist you today, Mr. Barnes.” Petrov assures. He smiles briefly at Vanya, and then nods at Phil. “Ambassadors.” He says simply - it’s apparently his way of thanking them, because he says nothing more and yet Matt smiles and Phil nods once, sternly. “Come. I will see you out.”

They’re all gathered at the door of the grand room preparing to be seen out, when the other shoe (which has thus far been hanging precariously over their heads) drops.

Bucky is surprised to hear Andreevich speak after having just sat through a meeting with him and getting nothing more than a brief glance as acknowledgement. Andreevich’s voice is a baritone, heavily accented, and has such a rasp that Bucky is immediately reminiscent of gravel on a street being crunched beneath a shoe. Conveniently enough, what Andreevich chooses to deliver in speech is more than enough to have Bucky resonate strongly with the gravel, while Andreevich is the shoe stomping all over him.

“Mr. Barnes,” The older man begins, standing in parade rest besides Petrov, who is now waiting calmly with his hand on the door’s handle. “I feel the need to enlighten you further on the importance of the documents that you are required to bring upon your next visit.” His green eyes aren’t moving, his gaze remaining focused and serious as he stares directly at Bucky. All Bucky can do is numbly agree to hear him out even as he tastes bile at the back of his throat. “The completed Customs and Immigration form identifies your daughter as a citizen of the United States of America. Without this form, Mr. Barnes, you may be in danger of losing custody of your daughter.” There’s a terrifying pause, wherein Bucky feels the blood drain from his face, and both Matt and Phil seem to stand a little straighter besides him.

“Assuming that she has family back in Russia,” Andreevich continues, “should any legal actions demanding her return, you should be aware that the neither the United States nor Russia recognizes dual citizenship. And in your daughter’s case, should you not have the completed Customs and Immigration form, then you will undoubtedly lose in a custody battle.” Andreevich’s expression never shifts, and his eyes never leave Bucky’s - his intense gaze sends a shiver up and down Bucky’s spine. “Those are things that need to be taken into consideration, Mr. Barnes. Now,” he makes a small gesture with his hand, and Petrov opens the door, providing Bucky and the others will an exit at last. “I do wish you luck in finding your daughter’s papers. Good day, Mr. Barnes. Ambassadors.”

The walk down the decorated hallway and back to the ground level of the building isn’t quite as awe-inspiring as it was on the way up. Bucky moves as if on autopilot, and once he’s outside of the Embassy entirely, he turns to look at both Matt and Phil. As soon as he glances over at them, Phil speaks up. “That was an highly unusual dismissal.”

“I’d say.” Matt pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“That guy knows something.” Bucky growls. He catches both Ambassador’s attention with that, and is quick to elaborate. “There’s no way that he said all that about custody battles just to be a dick. After the stunt my Father-In-Law pulled, I wouldn’t be surprised if he called in a couple of favors just to make sure that I got the message.”

Matt speaks first, after a brief pause to consider Bucky’s argument. “I think we should go somewhere else before we continue this conversation.” He smiles a little tightly. “Your daughter’s hungry, right?”

They relocate their conversation to a small coffee shop a block away and one street down from the Embassy and sit at a table furthest away from other people. Vanya happily devours a small sandwich and a cookie while the adults speak, though Bucky keeps an eye on her at all times while she sits besides him. He has to wipe away a milk mustache for her more than once.

“You _did_ mention that there was a threat of a custody battle over your daughter.” Matt’s hands are wrapped around his cup of steaming, black, coffee. “Would you mind explaining how that came about?”

So Bucky tells them both about the letter that he received just the day before, and of the man who had delivered it. He goes into great detail, describing the letter and the verbal message while Matt listens patiently. Phil pulls out a pocket-sized notebook and a pen and starts jotting down notes halfway through.

“What did you say your Father-In-Law’s name was?” Phil asks.

Bucky takes a long pull from his cup of coffee. He winces at the heat as it hits his tongue. He swallows, then answers. “Aleksander Lukin.” He sets his cup down. “He’s the CEO of - “

“Roxxon Oil Corporation.” Phil interrupts. Bucky nods. “I thought the name sounded familiar.”

“Well,” Matt says. “I guess that makes sense. If you’re insinuating that your Father-In-Law somehow got into contact with the Russian Ambassadors, then he would either have to be persistent as hell, or someone worth listening to. At least now, the latter option makes sense.”

“He had to have said something.” Bucky insists. “There’s no way that comment at the door was pulled out of thin air.”

"Unfortunately, since the message containing the threat was verbal, there’s no evidence against your Father-In-Law besides your word.” Matt says. He pushes his glasses up to rub at the inner corner of one eye. Bucky only spares a passing glance at the slightly glassy blue of Matt’s eyes before looking back down at his half-eaten croissant and fingering the side of his coffee cup. “There isn’t anything that we can do about it anyway.” Matt goes on. “The best solution that I can come up with is to stick to the plan I laid out for you at the Embassy. You go back home, back to work, and I’ll get the ball rolling for your daughter’s citizenship.”

“And in the mean time,” Phil chimes in. “limit any contact that you have with your Father-In-Law. Keep conversations with him short and neutral. Don’t make waves, and don’t let him know that you’re starting this process. It’s best to keep any communication between the two of you as civil as possible. He seems like a man who knows how to cover his own tail - make sure that you learn how to do the same.”

Bucky nods, gives a verbal response for Matt, and contemplates the entire situation very seriously as he drives himself and Vanya home later that same hour.

Steve is still out when Bucky makes it back, but his absence gives Bucky plenty of time to cook Vanya a proper meal. He sits down with her and eats a sandwich, _The Penguins of Madagascar_ the background noise to his thoughts. He programs Matt’s phone number into his cell phone, does the same with Phil’s, and very carefully avoids sending an angry, questioning, email to Aleksander while the time passes as slowly as paint dries.

It’s nearing six in the afternoon when the sound of Steve’s car in the driveway snaps Bucky from his nearly-hypnotized state. He’s been watching the news, only half-listening to the reports about more brutality in Syria, and Vanya has been coloring peacefully on the floor for just as long. She rises from her spot on the floor at the first sound of Steve’s key in the lock, and races for the front door. “Steve!” Vanya shouts. In English, she adds; “Home!” Bucky sits up a little straighter and scrubs a hand over his face, preparing for the upcoming conversation.

“Steve, Steve!” Vanya is chanting excitedly. As Bucky pushes himself to stand, he hears Steve’s enthusiastic greeting and Vanya’s shrill laugh - when he turns the corner to look out towards the front of the house, he finds Vanya now hanging off of Steve’s neck, Steve’s hands around her waist to support her weight and prevent her from dragging him to the ground. He has his camera gear and portfolio tucked underneath one arm, and he’s very obviously trying not to drop everything as he wobbles in the open door.

“I missed you too, kiddo.” Steve says, laughing. “Come on, you little monkey, let’s get you back inside.”

Bucky rushes forward in time to offer a hand, taking Steve’s camera and gear and helping to shut and lock the door properly. Steve grins at him and gives him a very welcomed kiss on the mouth by way of greeting, and then walks into the living room with Vanya still hanging off of his neck. She has her legs wrapped around his waist now, Bucky notes. Bucky watches Steve drop his portfolio onto the couch haphazardly before wrapping both arms around Vanya and hugging her close. He drops a quick kiss on the top of her head as well, and Vanya loves the attention; she clings even tighter to Steve, making him laugh again.

“Hey.” Steve says at last, turning all the way around in order to smile warmly at Bucky. As Bucky puts down Steve’s gear on the couch, Steve’s expression turns appropriately concerned. “Hey,” he says again, “Buck. Is everything okay?”

Bucky nods, even though he knows his expression can’t really seem all that reassuring. He sighs and falls back into his spot on the couch, a hand falling over his eyes as he leans back into the cushions. “Went to the Embassy.” He mumbles.

Steve shuffles around a bit, and eventually the couch dips besides Bucky as Steve sits beside him. “And?” Steve asks. Bucky lowers his hand and turns his head (he sees Steve’s bright blue eyes, full of concern) and smiles lopsidedly at Vanya as she settles comfortably in Steve’s lap. She really has warmed up to Steve considerably... “What happened?” Steve prompts.

It’s a long time before Steve is fully caught up, but he listens with rapt attention as Bucky explains the scene at the Embassy, Andreevich’s words, and Matt’s advice. He’s stunned to learn that Vanya isn’t properly immigrated, and Bucky notices the way that Steve holds onto Vanya just a little bit tighter when Bucky explains the possibility and ease with which Aleksander could take her away.

“But...she can still become a citizen.” Steve says, his voice raising at the end unsurely.

Bucky nods. “Yeah. S’what Matt told me.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, shoulders relaxing a little. “Okay.” He says, and swallows hard. His arms begin to loosen around Vanya bit by bit. “So, everything will be fine.”

“It could be.” Bucky says. “Aleksander might try something before then, and...well, I don’t know.” He sighs and puts his head into his hands. He’s hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know.”

Steve manages to spare one arm, and Bucky finds himself being pulled against Steve’s side after a few moments of silence and reflection. Steve is warm, and he smells like cough drops (Bucky remembers that Steve had just recently caught Vanya’s cold). He rubs Bucky’s arm very gently, and Bucky sinks into Steve’s comforting embrace, willing himself to stop his hands from shaking as he touches Steve’s knee. They sit together that way for a while, silently comforting one another, contemplating what is no doubt going to be a very harrowing adventure.

When Vanya falls asleep, Bucky holds her in his arms while Steve holds both of them at once. Bucky thinks about Aleksander, and about Steve and Vanya, and wonders why on Earth anybody in their right mind would ever want to break a family - no matter how small and unconventional - apart.

He closes his eyes and takes a nap.

**xiv**

"Syria is in total chaos." Natasha comments as she sips from her cup of coffee.

“Yep.” Bucky sighs. He cuts another piece of pie and serves himself, glassware clinking as he does. The television is behind him, suspended on the wall of the bakery with the volume on low. Natasha sits across from him, her legs crossed at the ankle and propped up on an empty chair.

Clint’s bakery is quiet this morning, only Bucky and Natasha occupying the seating area. It’s five in the morning and they’re sharing what’s left of half of a chocolate cream pie. Bucky has learned that it’s Natasha’s favorite dessert, and that Clint makes one extra for her at least once a week. They’re polishing off the remnants of the latest one and gossiping shamelessly over coffee, Natasha free from classes this weekend and Bucky fresh out of work and exhausted. Clint can be heard in the kitchen as he bakes and gets his cakes and pastries ready for presentation. Baker’s hours are odd ones, but Natasha seems used to it if her easy alertness is anything to go by. She’s in sweatpants and a tank top, her red hair pulled up in a bun and reflecting the faint early-morning sunlight as it seeps in through the windows.

Bucky is much less put together than Natasha. He’s still in his work clothes: dirty blue jeans, a plaid blue shirt one size too big over a white muscle shirt, and brown work boots. His short hair is windblown and sloppily finger-combed flat against his head, and despite washing his hands and face in the bathroom before eating, Bucky still feels grimy with sweat. He needs a shower more than he needs pie, but he’s willing to lose an hour or so with Natasha, drinking coffee and watching the news. It beats going home and fretting about immigration papers, custody battles, and Lukin’s messages - even if Steve is more than likely going to be awake enough to shower with him once he gets home.

“God,” Natasha groans. Bucky looks over his shoulder at the television and sees the news report playing out. Riots in the streets, the aftermath of bombings, the dead lined up in the streets underneath white sheets - “I can’t even watch this.” The channel changes as Natasha flips the switch on the remote, and suddenly Bucky is watching some interior design show.

“It’s gotten pretty ugly over there.” Bucky mumbles, his mind still lingering on the image of a little girl crying in the arms of her mother. “They’re teetering on the edge of a civil war.”

“Looks like. Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan...none of those countries looks to be seeing peacetime anytime soon, unfortunately.” Natasha sighs. She puts the remote down and reaches toward the middle of the table to cut herself another small sliver of pie. “It’s for reasons like these that I’m glad Clint isn’t able to get shipped off anymore. I think my hair would fall out from worry.”

Bucky snorts. “Probably.” Sometimes it was easy to forget that Clint had once been a soldier. Bucky saw him in an apron so many times that it was difficult to picture him wearing fatigues instead. “Besides, this place would fall apart without him.” He added, gesturing very carefully with his coffee cup around the inside of the bakery.

Natasha’s lips pulled up into a smirk. “No kidding. He runs such a tight ship. He would never be able to find anyone worthy enough of managing the place long enough for him to complete a tour.”

“Thank God for hearing aids?”

“Thank God for hearing aids.”

They toasted and drank more coffee. After refusing what might have been a third slice of pie offered to him, Bucky watches as Natasha takes to scraping off the whipped cream from the last few pieces with her fork and licking it clean. “Does he ever turn them off?” Bucky suddenly asks. When Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, he elaborates. “When you guys argue. Does Clint ever turn his hearing aids off on purpose, just to ignore you?”

This jostles a laugh out of Natasha. She sets her fork down and reaches for a napkin. “No. He’s smarter than that.” She responds while she cleans her hands. “He doesn’t sleep with them, though, which I’m glad for. That means he never hears me snore.”

“I wish I had that luxury, sometimes. Steve snores like a bear. A bear with sinusitis. And he’s a chronic cuddler, which wouldn’t be so bad if his feet didn’t somehow become blocks of ice halfway through the night.”

Natasha chuckles. “You two are adorable.” She says. Bucky rolls his eyes, but can’t help the small pull at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, Steve’s all right, I guess.” Bucky mumbles, feeling especially fond.

“He must be.”

Bucky wishes that he could tell Natasha all about what had happened last week. He’s been wrestling with the choice of confiding in her versus not, and even when he decided that he would probably feel better if he had someone new to talk about it with, he always ends up biting his tongue at the last minute. Phil had been clear about keeping the entire situation under wraps, and not just with Lukin.

“So how is Vanya?”

“Hm?” Bucky stops staring at his half-empty mug of coffee and lifts his head. Natasha repeats her question patiently, then slides out of her chair and walks behind the counter, grabs the pot of coffee, and makes her way back to the table just as Bucky shakes himself awake enough to answer. “Vanya’s fine. She’s good. She…well, did I tell you about the onion she ate last week? Just ate it raw. All of it.” He laughs when Natasha wrinkles her nose. “She’s also picked up a lot more English words. Her favorite one right now seems to be ‘mine’ which drives Steve bananas. It’s awesome. And Steve totally deserves to be driven bananas because he was watching Dora The Explorer with her a few days ago. He didn’t get why I was so irritated but - I mean, come on. I want her to learn English, but instead she’s commanding the door to _abre_ instead of _open_ , or she’s shouting _brinka_ instead of _jump_.”

Natasha giggles, then pours more coffee into Bucky‘s cup. “He’s doing his best, James.” She says. She tops her own cup off, then sets the pot of coffee down, onto a pot holder to preserve the tabletop. “He’s completely infatuated with that little girl, and he’s trying to do right by her. And you. So relax - you’ve got yourself a good man. And Spanish is hardly the worst thing that Vanya could learn.”

Bucky watches the steam from his cup rise and swirl in the air, then takes a sip of the dark liquid anyway. “Yeah, I know.” He says at last, and grins. “Steve’s great with Vanya. He…he really loves her, you know? And she can’t get enough of him. You should come over and watch them play zookeeper to her stuffed animals. It’s so sweet it’ll make your teeth hurt.”

“Oh no,” Natasha says with mock horror. “not that! The last thing I need in my life is more cavities.”

Bucky laughs. At the same time, Clint shoves the door to the kitchen open and makes his way behind the counter, pushing a cart of fresh pastries. It smells amazing, and if Bucky hadn’t just helped devour half of a chocolate cream pie, he might have begun offering to buy a bagel or two. The cinnamon raisin bread that Clint makes always makes his mouth water. “Hey, handsome.” Natasha greets. Clint looks up in the middle of putting his creations behind the glass display at the counter and smiles adoringly as Natasha waves at him.

“Hello there, gorgeous.” Clint responds. “And Nat.” He winks conspiratorially at Bucky (who just lets his head fall back as he laugh) and then quickly says “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” while Natasha pretends to be offended in between chuckles.

“I’m flattered, but I’m no home wrecker. I won’t come between you and Natasha, Clint.” Bucky puts a hand over his heart and tries to look sincere. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn.” Clint groans and puts a row of lemon bars in place. He lifts his head and looks longingly across the bakery at Bucky. “Well, I knew this day would come… I guess we’ll always have whole grain, sugar free, gluten free, blueberry oatmeal muffins with a drizzle of agave.”

Bucky nods solemnly. “A memory that I’ll cherish for as long as I live.”

“You two are weird.” Natasha cuts in, and Clint and Bucky cackle, breaking character. “That was ridiculous. Maybe Steve and I will take a day to get as close as you two just did.”

“Don’t.” Bucky wags a finger at her and grins. “Mine.”

Natasha snorts. “I guess we know where Vanya learned _that_ particular word.”

“You got that right.” Checking his watch, Bucky sighs as the time changes from 5:59 to 6:00 right on the nose. He pushes himself away from the table with a sigh and stands. “It’s getting pretty late. Er…early. I better start heading home.” He announces. He drains his coffee cup with minimal effort, offers to clean his cup and plate, and is waved off by Natasha as she stands as well, gathering the dishes into her hands.

“I’ve got this, babe.” She assures, and kisses Bucky on the cheek. “Get going. Clint and I will go bother you at home later this week, okay?”

“Okay.” Bucky says, returning the quick kiss. “Thanks for the pie. And the coffee.” He waves at Clint as he heads for the door. “See you, Barton.”

Driving home, the pie and warm coffee settling in his belly makes Bucky yawn far more often than he’s strictly comfortable with. He resolves to go straight to bed after he washes up. Steve is home all day today, and can watch Vanya for a few hours while Bucky catches up on his sleep. Natasha’s words keep playing over and over in Bucky’s head. _You’ve got yourself a good man._

He parks in the driveway of his home, his truck squeezed in besides Steve’s tiny sports car, and cuts the engine. He’s yawning as he lets himself inside the house, but he’s awake enough to remember to lock up properly before he kicks off his work boots and makes his way towards his bedroom. He makes sure to peek in on Vanya on his way down the hall, but as soon as his head is inside of the room, he realizes that her bed is empty. Her covers are shoved haphazardly down to the foot of the bed, and Sprinkles isn’t with the rest of her pillows. Bucky might have panicked, but fortunately he had noticed his own bedroom door left ajar on his way down the hall. Turning towards it now, he walks as quietly as possible and gently pushes the door the rest of the way open and looks inside.

Steve’s mouth is open and he’s sleeping on his back, comfortably sprawled out on his side of the bed. Tucked under one of his arms, lying down half on top of his chest, is Vanya. She has Sprinkles with her, and her face is the picture of serenity even as her head rises and falls quite dramatically with every inhale and exhale Steve makes. His snoring doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. Grinning, Bucky can’t help but take a picture as he stands in the doorway. His phone’s screen may be busted, but at least the device still works. The click of the camera makes Steve’s snores stutter and then halt, and Bucky swiftly tucks his phone back into his pocket as Steve picks his head up off the pillow and blinks tiredly at him.

“Hey, pal.” Bucky whispers. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I just got in.”

“Yeah.” Steve says. He smiles, then reaches up with the arm that Vanya isn’t sprawled out on and rubs at his eyes. “You just get outta work?” He wonders.

“A while ago. I was with Natasha, having coffee.”

“Oh.” A yawn. “Okay. Gonna shower?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll join you.”

“Nah.” Bucky shakes his head. “You sleep. You look pretty comfortable right where you are.”

Steve grins and drops his head back down onto the pillow. “I am.” He confesses. “But I could always slip away for a few minutes.”

Walking the rest of the way into the room, Bucky shakes his head again. He stops once he’s standing besides the bed, leaning down to kiss Steve, instead. “You know that we’d end up being in there more than just a few minutes.” He chuckles. “Sleep. I’ll take a fast shower and then I’ll come back here and join you for a while.”

Steve gives in with hilarious ease. “Okay.” He says, closing his eyes. “I’ll be here.”

“Of course you will. You’ve got an anchor keeping you in place.” Bucky very lightly kisses the top of Vanya’s head, careful not to rouse her, and then ducks into the master bathroom with a towel and some clean clothes tucked under his arm.

The spray from the shower is warm when he steps under it, and he sighs through his nose, running his hands through his hair and feeling the sweat and dirt fall off of him in waves. The water swirling around the drain at his feet is a dingy brown, though he only spares it a brief glance before he sets about lathering his body up with soap.

Bucky thinks about Aleksander’s threat while he showers, spoiling his good mood when he does with a now-familiar twist in his gut. So far, Bucky has only gotten one email from Lukin since his letter was received. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, just Aleksander inquiring about Vanya and requesting new pictures of her. Bucky had responded as simply as he could and sent two photos of his daughter despite the taste of bile at the back of his throat. He so badly wanted to call Aleksander and yell at him - demand answers, curse, and tell him that he was never going to take Vanya away from him - but he kept himself composed, somehow. He wasn’t going to damn himself just by losing his temper.

When Bucky steps out of the shower and dries off, he throws on a pair of boxers and pajama pants before he steps out of the bathroom. He has every intention of getting into bed, curling up next to Vanya and Steve, and hibernating for a good five hours.

Steve is awake when Bucky crawls into bed. He’s sitting up now, sketching calmly in his notebook while Vanya dominates the pillows with her entire body, still sleeping soundly. Steve smiles at him when Bucky throws an arm over his waist and uses his chest as a pillow rather than remove Vanya from what looked like a very enjoyable spot to sleep. “I can’t draw with your head in the way.” Steve complains half-heartedly.

“My head’s not that big.” Bucky mumbles into the warm skin of Steve’s rib cage. He feels Steve shiver underneath him when he breathes back out.

“Okay, fine. But if you keep me from drawing, you’re also keeping me from making any money. Comics are kind of my ticket to a paycheck.”

“Then use my head as a desk. I don’t care, Steve. Just wanna sleep, and you make a nice pillow.” Bucky grins and settles more firmly against Steve, tangling their legs together beneath the blankets.

“You’re getting grumpy.” Steve chuckles. “Go to sleep.” Bucky’s already drifting off at this point, and barely hears him.

It feels nice to sleep pressed against Steve’s side. Vanya is sleeping just above his head, too, and she smacks Bucky in the face, once, when she shifts in her sleep, but it isn’t enough to ruin the mood. When Bucky sleeps, he forgets about his worries. He can enjoy his family and ignore the storm brewing in the distance - it will hit land later, much later, but at this exact moment, Bucky is warm and happy.

The thunder in the distance doesn’t bother him at all.

**xv**

Bucky is at work when he gets the call. It’s nine in the morning and the overseer says something about a phone call in the office, waving Bucky down from where he’s operating his forklift.

“Who is it?” Bucky asks, squinting against the morning sunlight.

“What am I, your secretary?” The overseer shouts back up at him. “Go and take the call and find out yourself, Barnes.” He shoos Bucky away and takes his place on the forklift as soon as Bucky climbs down, resuming the task of unloading cargo.

Bucky walks towards the office, worrying his lower lip between his teeth the whole way. He always leaves his cell phone in his truck when he works, and Steve and all of his friends know that if they need to reach him in an emergency, they need to call the office. All Bucky can think of as he shoves his way inside of the building is what’s wrong. It could be Vanya, he thinks. Steve might be on the phone, ready to tell him that Vanya is sick, or that she’s hurt herself, or that she’s in the hospital, or worse… He’s aware that he’s panicking for no real reason just yet, but he can’t seem to will the feelings away. He snatches up the phone from where it lay face down on the overseers desk and presses the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”

“James Barnes?” It’s a man’s voice, but it isn’t Steve. Bucky doesn’t stop fretting.

“Who is this?”

“James, this is Phil Coulson, we met at the Russian Embassy.” That isn’t what Bucky is expecting, and he’s surprised enough to calm down a little. The feeling only lasts for a moment, however, before a new kind of panic sets in.

“Phil?” Bucky asks. “Right, I remember. I’m at work right now, man, what’s going - ”

“We need to meet.” Phil interrupts. “Matt and I can be at your home as soon as you’re out of work. What time do you expect to get in?”

“I…” Bucky glances down at his left wrist, checks the time on his watch. “Maybe I’ll be home by noon? Twelve thirty?” He offers.

“We can be at your home at twelve thirty.” Phil says. He has Bucky recite his address, repeats it back professionally, and then says his goodbyes, all without explaining to Bucky just what this was all about.

The phone call is enough to make Bucky finish the rest of his work day in a muddled, trance-like state. He’s so busy trying to figure out just what on Earth could be wrong that he barely tastes his lunch and clocks out for the day without really seeing his time card. There’s so many possibilities swirling around inside of his head, and he’s beginning to feel nauseous by the time he clambers into his truck at twelve fifteen. He drives just a hair over the speed limit, trying to get home and hopefully get some answers. He wonders if Lukin reached out to the Ambassadors somehow - if he was going to start demanding for Vanya to be taken back to Russia. He wonders if Petrov or Andreevich discovered the truth about Vanya’s citizenship. There is also the possibility that Matt can’t help him after all, and that (along with every other worry and the near-blinding fear seizing his heart) has Bucky’s eyes stinging with tears as he weaves through traffic, desperate to be home.

The drive is a miserable thirty minutes, and a black car is already parked by his mailbox when Bucky pulls into his driveway. Hopping out of his truck, he races for the front door of the house and pulls out his keys. He lets himself in as quickly as his fingers can work the lock and steps inside.

Phil and Matt are sitting down on the couch when Bucky all but stumbles into the living room, and they both regard him differently, yet solemnly.

“ _Papa!_ ” Vanya shouts. She comes bounding down the hall, bursting out of her bedroom with a great, big, smile and open arms. She leaps and Bucky manages to catch her, bringing her against his chest and holding onto her tightly as she clings to his neck. He shuts his eyes for a moment, breathes in the smell of her shampoo as her hair tickles his nose, and feels his shoulders slump in the relief of simply being able to hold his daughter.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice is coming from the kitchen, and when Bucky turns to look, Steve is poking his head around the corner, lips in a thin line even as he attempts to smile. Bucky doesn’t blame him for looking quite so pinched. There are two Ambassadors sitting in their living room, stone-faced and quiet - that would be enough to have anybody on edge, but Steve seemed to be handling himself better than expected.

“Hey.” Bucky coughs out.

“Hey.” Steve mimes. He gestures with his left hand, where he’s holding an empty coffee mug. “I was just getting Mr. Murdock and Mr. Coulson something to drink. There’s coffee. Do you want any?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Bucky says. “Please.” He sniffs, trying to blink away his tears from before as they try to make a comeback. He looks at the Ambassadors when Steve disappears back into the kitchen. “Matt, Phil.” He greets.

“James.” Says Matt. He looks a lot more tense than Bucky remembers.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks. He sits, Vanya still hugging him, on the loveseat directly across from the two men. “When Phil called me I got worried.”

“There’s been a rather serious turn of events.” Matt begins. He grabs a manilla folder from between himself and Phil and holds it out, Bucky reaching over the coffee table in order to take it from his hands. “Your Father-In-Law has made your situation public. The story was on the news yesterday in Russia, and reached us today.”

Bucky is stunned. “What do you mean he’s made the situation public? What situation?” He flips open the folder and stares down at the papers inside. It’s various printed pages of Russian news sites, all of them stating the same thing. _CEO tries to recover grandchild after Son-In-Law flees Russia._ “What the fuck is this?” Bucky demands. He drops the folder on the coffee table like its burned him, and disgust churns his stomach.

“ _Bucky._ ” Steve hisses from somewhere behind him. Bucky doesn’t even flinch, or look back, just sits there and shakes all over, holding Vanya against his chest while she hums softly, oblivious. Steve sets four mugs onto the coffee table, then goes back to the kitchen and returns with milk and sugar. “Buck, maybe Vanya should go back to her room. I had her up there coloring.” It’s Steve’s way of protecting Vanya, keeping her away from bad words or anything too stressful for her to understand. Bucky knows this, so the jolt of irritation at the suggestion is completely irrational.

“Yeah.” He says instead, and pats Vanya on the back. He murmurs gently in her ear. “ _Hey, Sweetheart. Why don’t you go back to your room and finish coloring? Steve and I need to talk to our guests for a while._ ”

Vanya frowns a little, but nods her head. “Okay.” She says, and Bucky marvels at her English and the way it’s becoming more and more natural everyday. She hops off of his lap and walks back down the hall to her bedroom, bare feet slapping against the tiled floor. When she’s disappeared back into her room, Steve settles into the couch besides Bucky and gently squeezes the back of his neck.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks. He grabs a cup of coffee from the table and all but shoves it into Bucky’s hands. He picks up the manilla folder and stares at the papers inside. “What does all this say?”

Phil looks at Steve warily, then turns his gaze on Bucky, but it’s Matt who speaks up. “Excuse me, Steve. James, is Steve someone you’re comfortable discussing this with? Or in front of?”

“Yes.” Bucky answers immediately, numb. Steve’s fingers squeeze his neck again, then fall away completely.

“All right, then.” Matt breathes out. Addressing Steve’s question, he responds, “It seems that Aleksander Lukin has made James’ situation public, overnight. Inside of the folder I handed over are three different headlines from three very popular Russian news websites, and they all paint a very specific picture. According to Lukin’s story, James is his Son-In-Law who took Lukin’s only Granddaughter, a Russian citizen, and fled Moscow sometime last year. He insists that he’s been relentlessly trying to convince James to move back, and that James refuses to budge.”

“Essentially,” Phil cuts in. “Aleksander Lukin painted James Barnes out as the kidnapper of an underaged Russian citizen that fled to America.”

“ _What?_ ” Steve gasps. “He - Lukin - _what?_ ”

“James.” Matt’s voice is suddenly softer, pitched a little lower. Bucky looks up at him and sees the grim expression on his face, though his eyes are hidden as per usual. “It’s very important that I ask you this: did you confront Aleksander Lukin in any way at all? Did you discuss your daughter’s citizenship, or his message, or anything else that Phil and I warned you never to repeat to him?”

“No.” Bucky spits out. He puts his coffee mug back down onto the table a little too hard. “No, I didn’t, of course I didn’t - you told me not to confront him. I listened. I sent him pictures when he wanted them and I didn’t talk to him about any of this mess even when I wanted to yell at him.” His voice is trembling, and his hands are shaking, but he’s absolutely livid. There is fear in him, of course, but right now, Bucky is only seeing red. “I didn’t give him any reason to do this. None!”

“All right.” Matt picks up his hands and motions for Bucky to quiet down. “Just stay calm - “

“Stay calm? What the fuck?” Bucky says, and laughs a little too loudly. The sound is sharp and bitter as it leaves his throat, and Bucky is sure that he sees Steve wince out of the corner of his eye. “Phil just said that Aleksander is making me look like some lunatic who kidnapped a child! People in Russia are being made to believe that I stole my own daughter! There’s nothing to stay calm about! There is nothing that you’re telling me, or showing me in this fucking folder, that is worth staying calm over, Matt!”

“Bucky, keep your voice - “

“Oh, shut _up_ , Steve!” Bucky swats away the hand that Steve puts on his knee. “Just shut the hell up, you don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about.” Bucky is furious enough that he feels no remorse for the way Steve’s eyes flash with hurt. Steve sets his jaw stubbornly and pulls his hand back into his own lap, and Bucky propels himself off of the couch in one swift motion, his boots stomping loudly as he paces the room from couch to window.

“James,” Matt ventures after a moment. “You really need to calm down.”

“I can’t - ” Bucky snaps.

“Well you’re going to have to try.” Phil says. When Bucky whirls on him, Phil is already standing, his shoulders squared. He raises his voice as he addresses him. “You aren’t being of any use to anybody in this room right now, parading around the way you are. You’re angry, and it’s understandable, but that doesn’t mean that you have an excuse to throw a tantrum while we have a very serious matter at hand. My suggestion to you, James, is to sit back down on that couch, drink your coffee, and stop lashing out at the people who are on your side.” When Bucky stands frozen in surprise for too long, Phil reiterates with a very firm tone. “Sit. Down.”

Bucky sits back down next to Steve after another moment has passed (shame making his face hot) and hangs his head. He ignores Steve’s gaze, but takes the ceramic mug offered despite not having any interest in drinking coffee. He doesn’t push away the hand that eventually settles on his back, either, though it is much more welcomed than the coffee.

“Now then.” Phil says, and sits down once again. “You didn’t have any conversations with Lukin regarding anything related to your daughter’s citizenship?” When Bucky tells him no, it’s in a much more controlled tone, and Phil nods as if he approves of the change in attitude. “What about any friends?” Phil’s eyes flicker over towards Steve for the briefest of moments before they settle on Bucky again. “Besides Steve, is there anyone else that knows about your daughter’s situation?”

“No.” Bucky says. He thinks of all the different times when he’s had a chance to tell Natasha and didn’t, and suddenly he’s grateful for his own silence. “Nobody outside of this house knows about it. Just me and Steve.”

Phil nods. “All right.” He sighs. “So this appears to be something that Aleksander Lukin did on his own, with no provocation.”

“He waited, though.” Matt pointed out. “It’s been just a little over a month since he sent you that letter, hasn’t it, James?”

“Yeah.” Bucky says, eyebrows drawing together. “Yeah, it’s…” He stops, horror seizing his heart long enough for a cold dread to wash over him. “Oh God…” He breathes.

“James?” Matt says at the same time that Steve says “Bucky?”

“The letter…” Bucky groans. He puts his coffee down for the second time, this time afraid that he might drop it in his lap if he doesn’t. “And the message...the man told me that Lukin was going to give me one month to respond to his requests.” Bucky put his head in his hands, shrugging off Steve’s warm hand as gently as he can manage.

“A month to respond.” Phil murmurs. “It’s been exactly one month and one day. You never responded to his demands, so he must have taken your silence as your answer.”

Matt sucks in a sharp breath of air, then breathes out very slowly. “You didn’t share that with me, James.” He says accusingly. When Bucky looks up at him, Matt has a stern expression fixed in place. His jaw is set and his eyebrows are pulled so low that they’re nearly hidden behind his dark glasses. “When I asked you for every detail, I meant every - “

“I know!” Bucky exclaims. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I… I just… I fucked up. I didn’t think about that until just now. God…” His vision blurs, then blacks out entirely as Bucky squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden sting of tears building up. His shoulders begin to shake, and no matter how many times Steve pats his back, or rubs his shoulders, Bucky doesn’t begin to feel any better. Eventually, he has to speak up again since Matt’s silence is crushing him. “Am I screwed? Can we do anything about this?” He manages to choke out.

There’s a pause, and then a heavy sigh. Matt’s expression smooths out some, and he combs a hand through his hair. “Of course we can.” He says. “We’ve already got the process started on your daughter’s citizenship, so that, if anything, will show that you aren’t hiding from anyone. We can keep pushing that, actually, but… this all just got horrendously complicated, and public. This story could possibly reach American news programs as early as tonight, and then you’re looking at reporters camping out on your front lawn with cameras and microphones ready to be shoved in your face and up under your nose. They’ll want your side of the story, or even just pictures and videos of you and Vanya. They’ll find out where you live, and they’ll be bombarding you with all kinds of questions and comments.”

“Great.” Bucky mumbles.

“You don’t get to act put upon, James.” Phil scolds. “This is what we’re left to deal with now, and you’re going to help us by putting on a brave face and doing exactly what Matt and I tell you.” Bucky feels himself bristle at the tone of voice Phil is using on him and he just barely bites back a curse. He knows that Phil is right, and he knows that listening to him and Matt is his best option right now, so he remains quiet and simply nods his head when he feels pressured to respond in some way. “We’ll need to meet with the Russian Ambassadors again.” Phil continues. “Matt and I can schedule a meeting with them for tomorrow. It’s best to get this done as quickly as possible. Can you make time, James?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, sure. I’ll let my boss know, tonight.”

“Well…” Steve speaks up at last, clearing his throat. “Is there anything that I can do to help?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Matt says. “You can lie low.”

“I,” Steve blinks. “What?”

“You don’t have any familial ties to James or Vanya.” Matt explains. “As far as this case is concerned, you’re a stranger. It would be best if you kept your head down and didn’t speak to the press at all, or discuss your home life with anybody. It would be unfortunate if one ill thought out comment from you makes the difference between James winning favor with the public or losing it.”

Steve looks like he wants to say something, but after a moment he appears resigned to this idea and nods his head. “Yeah.” He says softly, when Matt asks him if that sounds about right. “I can do that.”

“So, tomorrow.” Bucky says. “What do I say to the Ambassadors? What are they going to do?”

“Well, they’re not going to be as civil as they were before.” Phil says. “They’re going to question you, no doubt. They’ll want to know why you lied about not having her papers. We’re going to dodge that by insisting that you weren’t lying - that you honestly did believe that your daughter was a citizen of the United States.”

“Well, that’s the _truth_.” Bucky sighs, exasperated. “I could tell them about the letter, and the message. I could tell them what the man who delivered it told me - “

  
“James, let’s be frank: they aren’t going to believe that.” Matt was handed his coffee cup when he requested it, and as he stirred in a packet of sugar, he continued speaking. “Phil and I are going to be with you just like we were last time. We’re going to make sure that you don’t talk yourself into trouble, or lose your temper. It’s very important that no matter what the Ambassadors say to you, that you remain absolutely in control your senses. But I’ll go ahead and lead with this: don’t mention that verbal message.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best. I...can you give me an idea of what they’re going to say, or ask?” The next four hours aren’t very pleasant, and Bucky does end up losing his temper more than once, much to his own dismay. If he can’t even hold it together long enough to practice meeting with Andreevich and Petrov again, he has no idea how he’s going to handle the real thing.

There is no news about his case when he tunes into a broadcast later that evening. However, when Bucky is making breakfast the next morning, he burns several pancakes when he forgets to watch the stove - the television is on, and Aleksander Lukin’s lies are being spread like seeds over dirt. And unbelievably, the trouble has only just begun.

**xvi**

Petrov seems like a completely different person when Bucky next sees him. His polite smile and calm tone of voice are both long gone - in their places are a stern frown and condescending attitude.

“You didn’t tell me that your daughter wasn’t a citizen of the United States, Mr. Barnes.” Petrov accuses. “What you told me over one month ago was this: your daughter is a citizen of the United States of America, and you had simply misplaced her citizenship packet.” He’s standing. Bucky is sitting down in the same couch he had occupied the last time he was here, watching Petrov watch him.

Andreevich operates the same as before. He sits and lets Petrov speak for the both of them, but he’s listening and watching the entire scene as it plays out in front of him. It might be Bucky’s imagination, but he thinks that Andreevich looks just a little satisfied.

“Mr. Barnes only reported to you what he believed to be true at the time, Ambassador Petrov.” Matt says cooly. He’s standing as well, leaning against the arm of the couch closest to where Bucky sits. “He was under the impression that he had the files packed away in his home.”

“Well they obviously weren’t there, Mr. Murdock.” Petrov scoffs. “This has become quite serious.” He sits down, finally, and removes his glasses in order to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Barnes,” he addresses Bucky, “Was it your intention to live here in the United States without ever having filed for your daughter’s citizenship?”

“No.” Bucky says, calm despite the sick twist in his gut. “Like Matt just told you, I thought that it was finished.”

“Finished.” Petrov says, and Bucky sees Matt grip the arm of the couch just a little tighter. It takes a moment,  but he realizes soon enough that he’s used the wrong word. “Do you mean to tell me that you had, at some point, _started_ the citizenship process?”

Bucky doesn’t want to look at Matt or Phil, afraid that just looking away from Petrov would give away more than needed to be shared. So instead he just nods once, sharply. “Of course.”

Petrov’s expression clears, some. He looks surprised, and then amused, as he puts his glasses back on. “Well then, that makes a bit more sense.” He says, and Bucky frowns a little harder. “You started the paperwork, but you never finished.”

“I…” Bucky begins, and chokes around the lump in his throat. He swallows heavily. “Yes, but - “

“Mr. Barnes, you are aware that you have illegally immigrated your daughter, aren’t you?” Bucky doesn’t respond, but luckily he doesn’t have to. Matt jumps back into the conversation as smoothly as ever.

“Mr. Barnes did not complete his daughter’s citizenship packet within the allotted time given to him immediately following her birth, but he has taken action in the hopes of mending his mistake.”

“Even if that is the case, Mr. Murdock, it comes more than a year after his initial move back to the United States.” Petrov spreads his hands in front of himself. “This leads me to believe that Mr. Barnes only sought action once he became aware that his daughter’s status as an illegal citizen was in danger of being discovered.”

Bucky has to rub at his temples with two fingers on either side of his head, eyes shut, as Matt and Petrov go back and forth. He wants to cut in, prove his point, but he knows that if he so much as tries it, he might compromise the entire meeting. Phil had been extremely adamant on Bucky keeping his wits about him and not letting anger guide his tongue. Bucky is just glad that Vanya is home with Steve, because if she were in his lap right now, hearing all of this nonsense, he’s fairly sure that he would have snapped at somebody a long time ago.

“I think that you’re intentionally avoiding the point, Ambassador Petrov.” Matt is saying, voice rising just enough to be heard over Petrov’s unrelenting accusations. “Mr. Barnes is following all legal procedures in obtaining his daughter’s citizenship. We have the paperwork. There really is no reason for James’ Father-In-Law to create such an uproar - we aren’t talking about a kidnapper, we’re talking about a Father who has every right to take his child with him when he moves. While I acknowledge your, and the whole of Russia’s concerns, I have to insist that any further argument against James is unwarranted. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that he is not separated from his daughter, and that doesn’t make him an unfit parent. Exactly the opposite, in fact.”

“No one ever accused Mr. Barnes of being an unfit parent, Mr. Murdock.” Petrov points out.

“No they didn’t, Ambassador. Not directly. But anyone implying that his child should be taken away from him isn’t exactly on James’ side of the fence.”

“The issue at hand is not about James, Ambassador.” Petrov says severely. “Nor is it about taking his side or not. The issue is about his daughter, and where - or with whom - she belongs. It isn’t to belittle James or even mock his parental choices. We simply want what is best for Vanya who is, and has been for the entirety of her young life, a child of the Russian Federation.”

“The idea of ‘what is best for the girl’ creates an entirely new set of questions.” The discussion halts suddenly as everyone, with the exception of Matt, turns their attention to Andreevich. The older gentleman hasn’t spoken at all during the meeting so far, so to hear from him is surprising. However, Bucky remembers the last time that Andreevich spoke, and he feels his stomach churn uncomfortably. “Mr. Barnes, you’re a dock worker. You work odd hours, and your annual income, while not necessarily lacking, is meager when compared to someone like your Father-In-Law.” Andreevich casually crosses one leg over his knee and folds his hands over each other in his lap. “If I understand your history correctly, your Father-In-Law was practically supporting you while you were living in Moscow. Was he not?”

Bucky’s nostrils flared as he stamped down on the flame of indignation he felt licking at him. “He helped me keep my head above water after my wife died.” He said.

“He provided for your daughter in just about every way, financially. He bought her food, and clothes, and toys. He paid for any doctor’s appointments and medication she needed, he provided you with a nanny when you needed to work and he wasn’t able to take care of your daughter, himself. He even paid for your utility bills. Mr. Barnes, I don’t see how your financial situation could even dare to compete with Aleksander Lukin’s. He appears to be more than willing to spare no expense when it comes to caring for your daughter. As far as I see it, your daughter has a very loving Grandfather back in Moscow, and he misses his Granddaughter severely.”

“And keep in mind that Mr. Lukin has not given any indication that his intention is to separate you from your child, Mr. Barnes.” Petrov chimes in briskly. “He’s offered you a much better position at Roxxon Oil Corporation than you held previously - if I read the specifications and salary rate for the job correctly, the one that is being offered to you from your Father-In-Law is a vast improvement from the one you currently hold.”

“Your Father-In-Law is offering you room and board in a very high-end apartment building and he’s offering to foot the bill for the rent for the first six months upon your return. If that’s not enough, Mr. Barnes, your Father-In-Law has also promised to put your daughter in the very best schools Moscow has to offer children her age. She will be educated, clothed, fed, and given access to unlimited medical and pharmaceutical attention, all of which will be paid for without difficulty thanks to the salary of your new job.” Andreevich raises one thick eyebrow and sighs. “I don’t understand why you’re so reluctant to accept such a generous offer from your Father-In-Law. Don’t you want what’s best for your child?”

“Of course I do.” Bucky snaps. Matt puts a hand out, finds his shoulder, and pats him there gently. Bucky bristles under the warning touch. He takes a shaky breath and tries to calm down. “I would never want anything but the best for my daughter. I just happen to think that the best that I can give her is right here in New York. You said so yourself: my income isn’t even close to being inadequate. It pays the bills, puts food on the table, and clothes on our backs. I don’t struggle to support my daughter the way I did in Moscow. I like living in Brooklyn, and Vanya does too. She’s adjusted really well. I don’t see a need to relocate our family again.”

“Perhaps if you had been a great deal more thorough with your daughter’s citizenship process, you would not need to worry about a situation as delicate as this.” Andreevich points out with all the nonchalance of a person who sincerely believes that they're right. It makes Bucky’s blood boil.

“I think that we’ve established how this happened, gentleman.” Matt says, cutting in smartly before Bucky decides to act upon the urge to lash out. “What we’re here to do is figure out a diplomatic solution to this case. James doesn’t want to move, and he naturally doesn’t want his daughter to be taken away from him - no parent within their right state of mind would want that. I propose that we meet again tomorrow, to further discuss the issue at hand, now that both sides of the argument are out in the open.” Matt works his magic then, talking the Ambassadors (and Bucky) down enough to schedule another meeting. Phil, Matt, and Bucky all leave the Embassy together, and they don’t say a word to each other. It’s pretty obvious that the plan is wait to strategize at home so the ride back to Bucky’s house is a quiet, tense, anxiety-ridden one.

Bucky lights a cigarette in the car when Matt offers him one. It doesn’t matter if Bucky quit smoking two years ago, or if Steve won’t be able to go near him until he’s showered - he gives in, and he lights the cigarette, and the first inhale he takes makes his eyes water. Or at least, that’s what he blames for the tears that streak his face.

**xvii**

“Tell me that I read this wrong.”

Bucky looks up just as Steve shoves his cell phone practically under his nose.

“Steve - “ Bucky says, and pushes Steve’s hand away from his face. He refocuses his eyes on the screen when the device is a good enough distance, reads the headline on the article Steve has pulled up, and sighs. “Oh.” Bucky says. “That.” He lets go of Steve’s hand.

“That. Yes.” Steve hisses, and pulls his phone back into his own personal space. He reads the headline again and lets out a disbelieving sigh. “You broke that kid’s camera.”

“He was taking pictures of me and Vanya while we were having lunch.” Bucky explains. He knows that it doesn’t justify his actions, but he’s sure that it at least sheds some light on why he had done it in the first place. He looks back down at his work boots as he laces them up. “I didn’t mean to break the camera. But I just got so mad, and I - “ Bucky sighs, tied off his shoelaces, and then looked up at Steve apologetically. “I offered to replace it already. Okay? But there were other guys around us with cameras, and cell phones... they caught the whole thing.”

Steve shakes his head as he lowers his phone and puts it away in his pocket. “You need to be more careful, Buck.” He chides. “Remember what Phil said about public image - “  
  


“I know, quit reminding me about that would you? I remember what Phil said. I just lost my temper. Once. The kid’s lucky that I broke his camera instead of his nose.” Truth be told, Bucky had been tempted to do just that - the fact that he had restrained himself makes him feel accomplished. Steve obviously doesn’t feel the same way.

“Look,” Steve says, adopting a softer tone. It’s something similar to the one he uses on Vanya, when he’s trying to haggle with her into going to bed on time. “Just try to keep your cool next time. Not for me, but for Vanya.” Steve sits down next to Bucky on the couch and gently bumps their shoulders together. “Okay?”

“Goddammit Steve. Okay.” Bucky sighs. He starts to lace up his second work boot, pulling the strings a little rougher than necessary. “I told you already, I didn’t mean it.”

“Okay, easy.” Steve huffs. “I’m just trying to make sure that you’re okay. This case has been going on for about two months now, and there’s no telling when it’ll get settled, so you have to keep your cool for as long as it takes.”

After his second boot is properly laced up, Bucky fixes the legs of his pants and leans back into the couch cushions with a heavy sigh. He lets his head roll to the side so that he's facing Steve. He feels a pang of guilt hit him straight in the chest when Steve glances over and grins at him. In a way, Steve has it worse than Bucky does - he hasn’t really left the house for the two months that have had passed since Aleksander made international news. Bucky goes to work, or grocery shopping, or he takes Vanya to the park when she gets tired of being cooped up, but Steve has resigned himself to staying indoors and working. Bucky imagines that it must not be easy, having to stay at home day in and day out, but Steve has been wonderful about listening to Matt’s advice and lying low. The only time that Bucky sees Steve outside of the house is either early morning when he goes for his jogs, or when he needs to go to any of his other jobs. Bucky hasn’t really thought about what Steve must be going through, and now that he looks at Steve closely for the first time in a long time, he sees the dark circles beginning to smear themselves underneath his eyes.

“Okay.” Bucky says, calmer now with his guilt-ridden conscience whispering at the back of his mind. “Yeah, I know, you’re right.” He elaborates, and sighs. “This is going to be really bad at my next meeting with the Russians. Phil already chewed me out for engaging the paparazzi in the first place.”

“It’ll be okay.” Steve assures, unshakable as ever. Bucky regards him again, a little more critically. It’s eleven at night, so Steve’s dressed for bed - this means that Steve’s only wearing a pair of comfortable pajama pants and his favorite pair of house slippers. His bare torso is as impressive as ever, and Bucky thanks his lucky stars that Steve’s standards remain low enough for Bucky to keep himself squeezed into his life with ridiculous ease.

Suddenly, work doesn’t seem to be such a pressing matter anymore and Bucky reaches out and grabs Steve by the back of the neck. He drags him in close and plants one right on Steve’s lips, tasting toothpaste as his tongue gives an interested little flick against the roof of Steve’s mouth.

“You have work.” Steve laughs, and doesn’t do anything at all to disentangle himself from Bucky.

“Don’t go in until twelve.” Bucky retorts as he falls back into the couch cushions, dragging Steve down on top of himself. “We’ve got time for a quick one.”

“Oh stop, you hopeless romantic. You’re making me blush.” Steve supports his own weight, arms bracketing Bucky’s head, and Bucky gets to watch him roll his eyes.

“You laugh now, but what if I told you that it’s your turn to pitch?” Bucky wonders, and laughs at Steve’s rather optimistic eyebrow raise.

“Then I would respectfully withdraw that sarcastic comment, because that’s the most romantic thing you’ve said to me all week.” Steve says, and isn’t shy about plastering himself against Bucky from hips to toes.

“Help me get out of my pants.” Bucky instructs. He lifts his hips against Steve’s weight and grins at the groan he startles out of him.

“Buck, not here.” Steve protests with a laugh. “Vanya’s sleeping, but what if she wakes up? Besides, the lube and condoms are in the bedroom.”

“Aw, hell. That’s right.” Bucky grumbles, and Steve kisses him breathless before sliding off of the couch and offering him a hand up. “Wait, we still have condoms?” Bucky asks belatedly as he’s hauled to his feet and piloted down the hall. Thanks to Steve’s latex allergy, condoms are an investment that isn’t made very often. Bucky can’t remember if they had been on the last shopping list or not.

“I think?” Steve shrugs. “I’m pretty sure.” Bucky mirrors Steve’s shrug and sentiment - even if they don’t have any, he thinks they’ll manage just fine without.

They’re quiet as they pass Vanya’s room, and just as quiet as they slip into their bedroom and lock the door behind themselves.

“Steve?” Bucky asks as he’s pushed back into the bed, already half-naked and with Steve struggling to unlace his boots.

“Mm?” Steve grunts, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as his fingers slip on the double knot Bucky had made with his laces. He looks up when Bucky kicks at him gently, and smiles lopsidedly when Bucky softens his expression and grins.

“I don’t think I’ve said thanks.” Bucky says. “For what you do around here, I mean. With Vanya, and with...everything else. Just...you’re great. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad that you _want_ to be here. I’m sorry if I’ve been sort of awful lately, but with everything going on - look, what I mean is - “

“I know what you mean.” Steve loses patience and yanks off Bucky’s boot, laces still tied. He does the same with the other one and disposes of them by tossing them behind his back. He crawls up onto the bed and settles comfortably in the apex of Bucky’s thighs, grinning and kissing Bucky’s shoulder, neck, and face. “I love you, too.” Steve says serenely in Bucky’s ear, just before he nibbles at it. Bucky shivers, a full body thing, and Steve hums in approval. “But if I remember correctly, you’ve got to be at work at twelve. It’s eleven o’ five. Let’s not waste any time by stating any _more_ obvious facts.”

“Wow.” Bucky laughs, lifting his hips helpfully as Steve works him out of pants and underwear. “Now that I know what that sounds like, it really isn’t very romantic, is it?”

“Nope.” Steve grins, and puts his mouth back down over the pulse in Bucky’s neck, making him groan out Steve’s name.

“You left my socks on.” Bucky murmurs several dizzying moments later.

Steve clicks his tongue. “It’s okay, I won’t miss your toes. I don’t have a foot fetish.”

After all is said and done, Bucky arrives at work fifteen minutes late with very obvious sex hair, and his day doesn’t really suck as much as it could have.

**xviii**

Two months and ten days after Aleksander Lukin made international headlines, James Barnes finally makes a mistake too big to be repaired inside of the Russian Embassy.

A meeting between himself and the Russian Ambassadors (which has become routine at this point) had gone sour, and now Bucky is paying the price for it. Bucky thinks the only thing worse than Phil Coulson silently judging him is Phil Coulson reaming him out for inappropriate conduct.

“Furthermore,” Phil is saying as he paces around the living room. Bucky doesn’t think that he’s taken a single breath since he started his rampage. “you’ve made it all but impossible for Matt and I to help you. That was all it took, James. We warned you about controlling your temper.”

Bucky has had enough. Vanya is just down the hall with Steve, locked up inside of her room, away from all of this chaos, and Bucky hopes that she doesn’t hear him as he leaps to his feet and shouts back at Phil: “Did you _hear_ what he was saying about the way I care for my daughter? Weren’t you listening? God! You two were supposed to help me! You were supposed to keep everything in there under control, but you let them attack me with all of that bullshit and I couldn’t take it anymore!”

“That’s enough, James.” Matt snaps. He’s leaning against the wall, cane in hand.

“The hell it is.” Bucky spits. “I’ve had enough of this - you two didn’t do a goddamn thing to defend me - “

“ _Enough._ ” Phil whirls on him and Bucky tenses, hands balling into fists at his sides. Phil notices the loose fighting stance that Bucky has adopted and raises his chin. “We were keeping the peace as well as defending you, James.” He continues, unafraid. “Of _course_ Andreevich was going to attack you where you’re weakest. We told you that. He was waiting for you to break. Curse, scream, maybe threaten one of them - you did all three, mind you - and that was all he wanted. Now he has a reason to say that you’re not providing a safe environment for Vanya due to your temper. That was all he needed to give Aleksander Lukin a leg up on you, James, do you understand that?” Bucky feels some of the anger in his chest dissipate as cold fear grips him instead.

“There’s no way that they’ll want to schedule another meeting.” Matt clicks his tongue. “They’re going to take your outburst and run with it. We can only do so much damage control, James, and this time there’s too much at once. We can’t sweep it under the rug after you’ve played right into their hands.”

“Fuck.” Bucky hisses. He feels his chest tightening and his vision blurs. His eyes sting, and he’s angry - he wants to hit something. He’s slamming his fist against the wall before he knows what he’s doing, and soon after that he can’t seem to stop himself. His hand hurts, and the shock of each blow to the drywall creates a dull ache all the way up his left arm, but Bucky doesn’t relent. He hits the wall harder, ignoring the pain and the eventual red smears from where he cuts open his knuckles.

It’s too much. The stress of these meetings has been taking a toll on him, and now to have Phil say that Bucky has played right into a trap makes it seem like all hope is lost. Aleksander has been relentless in his pleas and scripted sob stories, and Bucky watches the news - he knows what the general public thinks of him. They’re siding with Aleksander without even hearing Bucky’s side of things. It’s starting to hit him that he really has given Aleksander ammunition to use against him: he’d cursed at an Ambassador of Russia, threatened to knock another one unconscious, and he’d shouted without inhibition inside of the Embassy. The entire past hour is a goldmine of bad behavior from Bucky, and he’d let them have it after only two months.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck - “ Bucky chants in between punches. His eyes, chest, and lungs are all on fire. His hand is bleeding, it hurts like hell, and he’s half-afraid of breaking bone while the other half of him thinks he deserves it.

“James - “ Matt sounds startled as he shouts across the room at him.

“James!” Phil bellows. Bucky hears him a lot closer than Matt, his shoes striking the floor sharply as he approaches.

“Bucky!” And that’s Steve, somehow, shouting at him and then wrapping arms around his waist, dragging him off of his feet and away from the wall, kicking and screaming. Bucky doesn’t even know how Steve got from one side of the house to another so fast without the ability to fly or teleport. “Buck, what the hell are you - Jesus Christ, your hand - what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Let go!” Bucky demands, thrashing and wailing. He sends an elbow back into Steve’s ribs and hears him lose his breath for a moment, though his grip never falters. “Let me go, Steve, I just - I’m fine, goddammit I just - “ He fights a little harder, kicking backwards, elbows and fists flying, until Steve drops down onto the floor with him. Steve is practically crushing Bucky as he holds his back against his chest, Bucky having no choice but to sit on the tile, sprawled between Steve’s legs. “Steve!” He shouts.

“Shh.” Steve insists, mouth close to Bucky’s ear as he rests his head on his shoulder.

“Fuck you.” Bucky gasps. Steve’s iron grip is making it difficult to suck in large lungfuls of air, so Bucky’s panting now, seeing stars and spots dance across his vision. “Fuck you, fuck you Steve... _fuck._ ” Bucky’s head falls below his shoulders and he squeezes his eyes shut, a choked sob catching in his throat. “You’re fucking suffocating me.” He manages at last.

“Well, you’re acting like an idiot.” Steve snaps. “You’re not giving me much choice.”

“James.” Phil warns.

Bucky is about to curse at Phil, too, when he hears a soft voice coming from down the hall. “Daddy!” Vanya shouts. “Daddy!” Bucky’s entire body tenses and he feels his heart plummet to the ground.

“ _Vanya, go back to your room._ ” Bucky shakily instructs. Vanya isn’t in the living room yet, but Bucky is looking at the doorway, hoping that Vanya doesn’t stick her head around the corner while he’s in a heap on the floor with a bloodied hand.

“But - “ Vanya starts.  
  


“ _Come on, Vanya._ ” That’s Phil speaking Russian in those soft tones, Bucky realizes. He watches as the man crosses the room and rounds the corner into the hallway - he must intercept Vanya and turn her around, because his voice fades some, the more he talks, and he leads her back to her room. “ _Your Papa is busy right now. Let’s put you back in your room, just for a little while longer._ ”

“Steve?” Matt asks cautiously. Bucky glances at him briefly and sees that he’s pushed himself away from the wall.

“We’re here.” Steve says in response, and Matt turns his head towards them with a faint flicker of relief crossing over his face.

“Are you - “ Matt pauses, straightens his posture a bit, and tries again with a much gentler tone. “James, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“His hand’s busted up.” Steve says at the same time that Bucky grunts “I’m fine.”

“James, for the love of Christ…” Matt groans, and scrubs a hand down over his face. He muffles something into his hand, and then picks his head up again. “Okay, listen to me.” He says, and Bucky watches as Matt carefully holds a hand out as he lowers himself to the floor. He gets down on his knees, then shifts his weight and sits comfortably, legs Indian style, and cane resting over his lap. He’s a good two feet away, but the solidarity makes Bucky feel closer to him regardless of any physical measurements. “I know that Phil and I probably freaked you out just now,” Matt says, “and I’m sorry for that. But you need to understand that we’re still trying to help. We’re only behaving so strongly because we truly are passionate about you winning this case and keeping your daughter in your care. We’ve both been on your side from the very beginning, and we will continue to be even if we are no longer working personally on your case from here on out.”

Bucky might have sniffled, though he tries ridiculously hard to hold back his emotions. Steve is still restraining him (albeit a lot more gently), so it isn’t as if he can physically separate himself from this situation. “Okay.” He says at last.

Matt nods, a grim smile pulling at his lips. “I’ll try not to be so hard on you, James. This hasn’t been easy for you, and sometimes it’s easy to forget that when you get out of a meeting at the Embassy, you come home to take care of a four-year-old, or you go to work. You have a life that’s real, and difficult, and you’ve got a million plus one worries weighing you down right now. We aren’t trying to beat you up about what happened today, we’re just concerned about what the future holds for you and this case.”

“I don’t understand.” Steve speaks up quietly. His hold around Bucky loosens, allowing Bucky to breathe a little easier, but Steve doesn’t let go entirely and he stays sprawled out on the floor. “What’s going to happen now, if you and Phil can’t help?”

Bucky wants to know the answer to this question as well, so he lifts his head and glances over at the Ambassador. Matt’s eyebrows are drawn together, and he thinks about the question for a moment, then responds cautiously. “Well, the case will be given to a higher form of court. This can’t be taken out of the Embassy and given to just any judge in the five boroughs - this has become bigger than any of us expected, I believe. It’s no longer Lukin vs. Barnes. This is rapidly escalating into Russia vs. America. The way I see it, you’ll be sent to the United Nations, where you can plead your case not only to Russia, but to the rest of the world.”

Bucky’s heart sinks, and he feels like he might be sick to his stomach. Bad news for Steve, who hasn’t released Bucky from his arms. “The United Nations?” Bucky croaks, suddenly winded again. He sinks willingly against Steve’s chest, his hands shaking (his left one is throbbing and bleeding all over Steve’s jeans, and the tile). “Why? Why involve the rest of the world? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does, actually.” Phil is suddenly in the doorway again, calmly entering the living room. Vanya isn’t with him, so Bucky is reassured by the thought that she’s safely in her room. He also becomes aware of the fact that he’s still sitting on the floor being physically restrained while his hand bleeds and he tries not to cry. Embarrassed, Bucky pushes away from Steve with enough force to get free from his weakened hold and stands on his own after a moment. He doesn’t want Phil to see him looking so pathetically broken. Blessedly, Phil doesn’t comment and instead just continues to speak while Bucky watches as Steve rubs his chest and stands, moving to help Matt get back on his feet.

“Russian citizens are angry about this case. They don’t see you as Vanya’s Father, they see you as the man who illegally immigrated a Russian child while taking her away from her very wealthy and very loving Grandfather. Russia wants their child back. The citizens of The United States are a bit more divided - half see you as a loving but ignorant Father while the other half sees you as someone that got caught doing something illegal. But luckily for you, the United States is prepared to defend you, since you’re a citizen here, with a right to his child. This all means that this case is top priority now - the US doesn’t want to offend Russia, but they don’t want to make you give up your daughter, either. And Russia wants to get its way, but doesn’t want to come off as a bully. Thus, we take this case to court.”

“The United Nations will hear both sides of the story, and will deliberate for as long as needed until the decision of what to do with your daughter is made.” Matt elaborates. “As you’ve probably noticed, you’ve now been dumped into a vat of political intrigue and international scandal.” He pauses, combs his hair with his fingers, and sighs. “I wish I had a better report for you, James, but unfortunately the situation as a whole isn’t anywhere near over. Nor is it about to become any easier.”

“I’d clean and bandage your hand.” Phil warns. “That will raise some eyebrows, I can guarantee it.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. Wordlessly, he uses the hem of his shirt to cover his left hand and winces at the sting the rough scratch of fabric creates against his wounds. Steve reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder, and Bucky shies away, humiliated. Steve stops trying to touch him, and instead turns back to the Ambassadors. Bucky feels immensely guilty for the rasp in Steve’s breathing, and vows to apologize for hitting him in the chest, later. “Will the two of you still be helping him?” Steve asks.

Matt grimly shakes his head and Phil replies: “I’m afraid that we wouldn’t be of much use at this point. This has gone over our heads and thus out of our hands.”

“But don’t worry.” Matt says. “We’ll be in touch. And besides that, you’ll be in the hands of some very cunning and trustworthy people who know how to operate within the United Nations. I can guarantee that you will be defended by none other than the very best America has to offer.”

**xix**

Later that night, after Bucky has washed and bandaged his hand, he crawls into bed where Steve is already resting. He’s not surprised to find Steve with his back to him, but he curls around Steve anyway, his forehead pressing between his shoulder blades as an arm sneaks around Steve’s waist. When Steve doesn't protest, he settles his hand (the uninjured one) over Steve’s chest and rubs there, gently.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks softly. He can feel Steve’s chest expanding, pressing into his palm with every inhale. There’s a steady heartbeat beneath his fingers that Bucky counts in his head.

“M’fine.” Steve says on a sigh. “I should be asking you the same thing. How’s the hand?”

“Not broken.” Bucky deflects instead of thinking about the raw skin and dark bruises that exist just underneath the fresh bandages.

“Good.” Steve doesn’t push him away, and Bucky doesn’t move. They lie together for a while in silence. Eventually, Steve stirs and Bucky feels a warm hand covering his own as Steve presses their hands together, over his chest. He doesn’t roll over. “Buck, I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say it, but everything’s gonna be - “

“I know.” Bucky interrupts. He is sort of sick of hearing it, but only because he’s afraid. It doesn’t stop him from holding on desperately to those words, nevertheless. He nuzzles in between Steve’s shoulder blades and plants a chaste kiss over a scattering of freckles there. “And...before, I didn’t mean to lash out at you. I’m - “

“I know.” Steve responds. Bucky nods, and they lapse into silence again for a while.

Several peaceful minutes tick past before Steve pulls Bucky’s hand up to his lips and kisses his fingers, one by one. It’s methodical and soothing, and Bucky lets his eyes slip closed while Steve tends to him. However, a particularly loud creak from the hallway just beyond their closed bedroom door brings both men to a standstill, and they listen and wait.

Sure enough, their bedroom door opens inward a second later and Vanya pokes her head into their room. Her expression is grim, and she’s clutching Sprinkles to her chest tightly. “ _Papa._ ” She says into the darkened bedroom. Then, when Bucky fails to respond immediately, she asks, a little louder, “Daddy?”

Bucky chuckles very softly at the same time he feels Steve smile against his fingers. “Since when did you start calling me that?” He wonders, and then repeats himself in Russian so that Vanya can better understand. He gets a tiny little shuffle of the feet in response, and then he motions his daughter over towards the bed. “ _What’s the matter?_ ” He asks as she approaches.

“ _I’m scared. I had a bad dream, and I want to sleep in here._ ” Vanya says honestly. She pauses at the foot of the bed, waiting, and as soon as Bucky opens his arms, she scales the mattress and crawls across the bedspread before sinking into her Father’s embrace.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks. He rolls over now, and props his head up with one hand, squinting in the dark at Vanya and Bucky.

“She had a bad dream.” Bucky explains. He’s smoothing Vanya’s hair down with the fingers of his right hand and rubbing her back with his left, bandages and all. “Wants to stay here.”

“Okay.” Steve says, and reaches out. He grins at Vanya and strokes the side of her face when she turns to look at him. “You’re safe here, Darlin’.” He assures her, and Bucky grins when Vanya clutches at his wrist and nods. Her English is improving, and she’s beginning to need fewer and fewer translations. “Let’s get you under the covers, huh?” Steve asks next, and Bucky helps him arrange a spot for Vanya to lie down between them before they tuck her in together, lovingly.

Steve and Bucky don’t sleep for another hour and a half, too busy talking in hushed whispers and stealing long, meaningful glances at each other while Vanya snores lightly. They hold hands over Vanya’s back while she sleeps on her belly, and Bucky doesn’t feel any better about going to the UN, but he doesn’t feel completely hopeless anymore, either.

**xx**

Nicky Fury is ‘America’s Best’ and he’s extraordinarily terrifying and efficient. An American Ambassador from the UN, Fury also has a military background with several impressive titles, a generous amount of college degrees, and an eye patch. Bucky is most fascinated by the eye patch.

“Don’t look directly at it.”

Bucky is startled when the (presumably armed) guard standing to his left addresses him. He looks away from where Fury is talking on his cell phone a few feet away, behind a glass door, and watches the man’s eyes flash with amusement. “What was that?” Bucky asks, wary.

The guard smirks. “The patch.” He says, and gestures with one finger to his own eye, then to Fury, who has yet to stop pacing or talking on his phone. “You’ve been talking to that patch ever since you met him, and I just thought that I’d point it out. I think Fury gets kind of touchy about it.”

“ _Sam._ ” The guard on Bucky’s right chides.

“Easy, Riley, I’m just trying to help.” The first guard, Sam, says with a shrug.

“That’s not our job.” Riley responds, just under his breath. Bucky hears it anyway, and so does Sam.

“No, but neither is helping Colonel Fury cheat at _Plague Inc._ by looking up strategies for him. Yeah, that’s right, look guilty. I’ve seen your browser history.” Riley grumbles something, and Sam just grins, all white teeth and bright, brown, eyes.

Bucky stands between them, Vanya on his hip and Steve at his back, and wonders just how in the hell his life has come to this.

“Is he going to be in there for much longer?” Steve speaks for him, sounding somewhere between annoyed and bored.

“Maybe.” Sam shrugs. “Never can tell with Colonel Fury. He’s a busy guy. More so now with everything happening over in the Middle East.” This brings to mind images from television. Bombings and firefights - Bucky cringes and holds onto Vanya just a little bit tighter.

“Colonel Fury will be with you as soon as possible.” Riley speaks up, shooting Sam a brief glare over Bucky’s head. “He’s more than likely conferring with someone about your case.”

Bucky sighs, nods, and sees Steve do the same just out of the corner of his eye. Vanya is getting restless in Bucky’s arms, more than likely bored with their surroundings and company. Bucky would let her down to play, but he’s half-afraid that she’ll find something inside of Fury’s (rather minimalist) office to break, and that will be that. He still hasn’t replaced his broken cell phone, after all, and doesn’t want to think about what sort of irreplaceable items that Fury might have stashed away.

It’s been a little over three weeks since the incident at the Russian Embassy. This isn’t the first time that Bucky has been in the United Nations building since then, but it’s the first time that Vanya and Steve have come with him. Today is the big day, at long last - Bucky is going to meet with the world’s Ambassadors, in the UN, and he’s going to plead his case. He’s nervous, naturally, but he’s also very anxious to get this over and done with. It’s been an agonizing experience, watching his daughter’s pictures posted on news sites and blogs, or flying across his television screen when he turns on the news. Bucky hates being in the middle of this, and he hopes that Nick Fury is as good as Matt promised he’d be.

As if on cue, Fury lets himself out of the adjoining room, putting his cell phone away in his pocket as he strides confidently towards Bucky. He’s got a very serious face with lines around his mouth and on his forehead, and he always looks like he’s thinking of several different ways to make you put your foot in your mouth. That must be handy inside of the UN, in front of the Ambassadors from all over the world, but it makes Bucky nervous. And now he feels awkward, deliberately looking anywhere besides the eye patch covering Fury’s left eye.

“Sorry for the wait.” Fury doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But now that that’s out of the way, we can go over the game plan one more time.” He gestures, and Bucky walks forward with Vanya and Steve, taking a seat across from Fury at his desk. They’ve been standing around for a while, too nervous to make themselves comfortable, and even now as Bucky sinks into the chair offered to him, his leg starts to bounce anxiously. Vanya doesn’t like it, so she squirms and calls for Steve until he reaches over and takes her from Bucky, gently. “All right. Our meeting with the UN will be starting in about an hour. Make sure that your daughter has had a snack, has used the restroom, and isn’t going to cry once we’re inside. Russia is already complaining about not seeing her, so we want them to see her today, completely content -that’s why I asked you to bring someone with you, who can control her. You are?” Fury asks, looking at Steve.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve introduces himself. He’s got Vanya in his lap now, and he’s holding Sprinkles the Penguin for her while she gets comfortable against his chest.

“Mr. Barnes’ boyfriend.” Fury notes. Steve looks a little sheepish, but doesn’t hesitate to nod. “Right. Murdock and Coulson _did_ make note of that. Since that’s something that has yet to reach a public outlet, I suggest that we keep your title limited to ‘best friend’ or ‘roommate’ for a while.”

“What?” Steve asks, and looks appropriately offended. “Why?”

“Russian law states - “ Fury begins, but Bucky talks over him and says: “Russians aren’t too friendly towards gay men.”

“Oh.” Steve’s shoulder slump. “Okay.” He agrees after a moment.

Bucky looks at him apologetically. “Sorry,” he mouths. Steve just gives him a lopsided smile and shrugs one shoulder.

“As I already told you,” Fury continues. “Russia will be doing a lot of Q&A with you. They’ll want to know everything there is to know about your life here in America. Who takes care of Vanya when you’re at work? Is she in any sort of primary school? Is she struggling to learn English? Does she often have tantrums that you cannot seem to control?” He sighed and began to rifle through some papers on his desk. “I’m sure that you’ve been practicing your answers, like I advised?” Fury wonders, and raises his eyebrow at Bucky.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He mutters, and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. “I’ve been practicing. I know what to say.”

“Good.” Fury lapses into silence again, for a while, and continues to arrange papers on his desk. He sorts them into various manilla folders, then stacks them all on top of one another, seeming satisfied. “We’ll be going in pretty soon.” He says next, and checks his watch. “Are there any questions that you have before we go? Any concerns that you need to address?”

Bucky thinks about that, and exchanges looks with Steve. He takes in the worried slant of Steve’s eyebrows, and the set of his jaw...then he looks at Vanya, who is petting Sprinkles and humming to him affectionately, entirely oblivious to their surroundings. He thinks about the advice that he’s gotten so far, and about all of the encouragement he’s been receiving, and then shakes his head as he turns back to look at Fury. “No, sir.” He sighs. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” Fury says again. He even smiles a little, and looks pleased with Bucky’s response. “Sam, Riley, take point - I think it’s about time we all head over to the General Assembly Hall to get ourselves situated.”

**xxi**

The General Assembly Hall is huge, and the Ambassadors that fill all of the chairs bring personalities that are just as big. Russia is naturally leading, asking question after question. Nick Fury is good about shooting down some of them, but Bucky manages to respond without his voice shaking, which he considers an enormous accomplishment in and of itself.

Vanya remains quiet as Steve sits besides her, but when Bucky looks over his shoulder at her, she looks just as terrified as she had since the representatives had filed into the room all at once. She’s quiet, though, and smiles when Bucky waves at her, so there is no backlash for her wide eyes and slouched posture.

From what Bucky can tell so far, Germany seems to be favoring his side of the argument. Their Ambassador is continuously looking at the Ambassador of Russia, eyebrows shooting all the way up towards his hairline as if he can’t quite understand why this custody battle is still being debated. Fury had warned him that this might be the case - Germany, The United Kingdom, Canada, France, and Japan, he said, were more than likely going to be on their side from the beginning. He’s right, Bucky realizes. The UK is calmly arguing with Russia, the Ambassador younger than most but just as well-spoken and adamant about his country’s stance as an American ally. Canada is much quieter, though their representative counters many of Russia’s more hostile arguments. France and Japan both observe in silence for as long as possible, and don’t make as many comments as the other countries do, but they aren’t shy about stating that their loyalty lies with America and, of course, Bucky. Bucky even notices the Ambassador from France smile and give a little wave at Vanya from his position across the room from her.

Mexico’s Ambassador is surprisingly adamant about the entire situation; he’s very transparent and sides easily with Bucky’s end of the argument, gesturing animatedly when he’s given the opportunity to speak. China isn’t quite as easy of a read as Mexico. They’re selective in their interjections, making them appear rather neutral about the whole thing. China’s Ambassador doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to the debate half the time - when Bucky glances over at them from the corner of his eye, once, he sees the Chinese Ambassador rifling through some papers that he’s fairly sure have already been sorted.

The other countries all vary in opinion and adamance, or don’t give any indication about who they seem to favor. Bucky can only guess that the closer the country is to Russia, the more likely it is that they’ll side with them.

There are definitely parts about the meeting that Bucky dislikes immediately. He hates practically having to tell his entire life’s story to a room full of Ambassadors and Representatives, and he really hates the various whispers in foreign languages that erupt as he explains how it is his daughter came to be without a United States Citizenship. It’s humiliating, and nerve-wracking, and completely exhausting, but Bucky sticks to his story and manages to keep his cool. Ever since his outburst at the Russian Embassy, he’s been doing everything in his power to remain calm in stressful situations, afraid of what damage his temper might cause. He’s doing well, and he’s feeling much better now that he has a real reign on his emotions. Fury is very good at his job as well, which helps keep the peace even when various Ambassadors begin speaking all at once.

The meeting is going to be ending, soon. They’re scheduling another meeting, and Bucky agrees to come back within a week’s time to continue this debate (even if he thinks that it’s ridiculous for him to have to debate custody of his own flesh and blood), and soon enough, Fury has a hand on his back as Bucky rises to his feet.

It’s over, he thinks, as he reaches out and gently takes Vanya’s hand in his own. It’s over, and he’s not done anything harmful to his situation. In fact, things are looking up for once. He allows himself a small grin, rubbing his thumb over Vanya’s knuckles as she trots along besides him, and thinks that everything just might be okay after all.

**xxii**

(This is where time will stop. This is when things will go from zero to sixty with just one word.

They’re following Fury down the walkway, preparing to leave - Steve is somewhere behind them. Bucky doesn’t notice it when Steve falls behind, but Vanya does. Steve stops walking and doubles back to retrieve Sprinkles the Penguin, which has fallen out of Vanya’s grip while she walks.

Steve has been holding Vanya’s hand throughout the entire meeting. He’s been keeping her calm, whispering endearments to her, and even making sure that she has her toy with her during the meeting. He kept it with him at all times until it was wanted. Now, he’s retrieving it from the floor of the General Assembly Hall, falling behind as Bucky walks forward with Vanya, and Vanya notices the absence of Steve’s hand from hers instantaneously. She turns her head, sees Steve further than she feels comfortable having him, and reaches out towards him anxiously.

Bucky hasn’t seen any of this of course, facing Fury’s back the way he is, but he definitely hears it when Vanya calls out, very clearly, for Steve.

Time stops.

Vanya does not call out Steve's name.)

**xxiii**

“Daddy!”

It’s plain English. It’s loud and clear, and Bucky stops dead in his tracks when he feels Vanya resisting his tug and when he realizes that she’s not calling _him._

Bucky whirls around, eyes wide in astonishment, and he looks at where Vanya stands - she’s got her hand stretched out, and she’s waving enthusiastically at Steve, calling him to come closer and take her hand. Steve is frozen in place when Bucky lifts his eyes to see him. His jaw is slack with surprise and his eyes are round. Steve and Bucky lock eyes after a beat, and the comprehension suddenly slams into place so hard that it takes Bucky’s breath away.

( _“Daddy!” Vanya shouts down the hallway while Steve has Bucky restrained on the floor._

__

_“Daddy?” Vanya asks while stepping into Bucky and Steve’s room._

__

_“Daddy!” Vanya shouts now, clearly reaching for Steve._ )

‘Daddy’ isn’t something that Vanya is learning to address Bucky as. It’s not her replacing ‘Papa’ as Bucky once thought it was. She’s calling _Steve_ her _Daddy_. She sees him as enough of a Father figure to address him as one, and both Bucky and Steve haven’t realized it at all.

Slowly, as the shock of it chips away, Bucky feels his lips pulling up into a smile. Steve gives a breathless sort of laugh, short and sweet, and smiles as well, his shoulders slumping a little. Steve begins to stride towards them, Vanya’s toy in his hand and a newfound delight very obvious on his face.

Steve has just grasped Vanya’s hand when time begins again.

“Mr. Barnes!” A woman’s heavily accented voice reverberates inside of the Hall. It snaps both Bucky and Steve out of their shared revelation, and they both turn towards the source of the shout. It’s the Russian Ambassador, Karina Antonova, standing deathly still just besides her nameplate on the desk she had previously been seated at. She’s an older woman, late forties at least, with short, graying blonde hair, brown eyes, and a severe frown depressing her features. She has been nothing but professional throughout the meeting - even though her loyalties to Russia are clearly visible - but now she looks absolutely livid. “Mr. Barnes, did your daughter just refer to this man as her _Father?_ ” She demands, pointing a finger down at Steve.

Bucky’s mouth runs dry. He tries to say something, but the instant that he opens his mouth, his throat seizes and he comes up blank. He flounders for a moment before Fury, who has stepped back a few feet to be besides Bucky, speaks for him: “If the Russian Federation would remember, this meeting has already ended.”

Antonova tears her furious gaze away from Bucky and focuses on Fury. “Russian law clearly states that no child of the Russian Federation is allowed to be raised by parents of the same gender. The Russian Federation does not recognize same-sex marriages, and has previously passed a bill that states no child of the Russian Federation should be subjected to teachings of the same-sex lifestyle. This development is worrisome to not only me, but to the whole of the Russian Federation, and should be discussed immediately.”

“This meeting has been called to an end.” Fury repeats, while the entire room erupts into surprised gasps and murmurs. “Any worries the Russian Federation has can be laid to rest at the scheduled meeting next week.”

“Is America implying that Russian law is to be ignored for all of one week?” Antonova demands. “This development concerns a child of the Russian Federation and her upbringing, and should be addressed immediately.”

There’s a moment of silence on Fury’s behalf while he contemplates this response. After another heart-stopping moment for Bucky, Fury squares his shoulders and motions Bucky back towards the front of the Hall where he had been sitting. “Of course.” He responds calmly. Bucky catches the clear _heads up!_ look that Fury shoots him, and feels his heart sink. “Russia has their right to question Mr. Barnes after this latest development.”

Antonova nods and straightens her jacket as if she’s dusting herself off from a fight. She reclaims her seat while the rest of the world’s Ambassadors pick their jaws up off the floor and hesitantly do the same.

“What?” Bucky asks, his heart racing. “But the meeting is over, you said - ”

“I know what I said.” Fury hisses back, quietly enough so that only Bucky can hear his words. “But we can’t ignore Russia’s request. Just go along with it, answer their questions, and for God’s sake, don’t lose your temper.”

Bucky sits back down in his seat heavily, his eyes wide as he looks around the room. Various whispers and comments are buzzing in his ears as he looks from one face to another, trying to gauge their reactions. He’s unsuccessful, for the most part, though when he looks over his shoulder at Steve, he sees his own panic mirrored in Steve’s blue eyes. Bucky faces forward again when Antonova addresses him very sternly.

“Mr. Barnes, are you in a relationship with this man?” Antonova asks, point blank, and singles Steve out with one gesture.

Bucky feels his throat close up, and he swallows heavily, trying to force himself to relax. There’s an irrational stab of fear that makes him want to say _no, I’m not,_ but he quickly smothers the idea of doing such a thing. It isn’t going to do him any good to lie now, after everything that he’s been through, and it certainly won’t make life after this any easier. So Bucky slowly nods his head, and the room erupts into a roar of anxious chatter, almost loud enough to drown out his words as he finally finds use for his vocal cords. “Yes. I am.” Bucky says as steadily as possible.

“And I assume that you’re aware of the laws in Russia regarding same-sex couples and children.” Antonova went on.

“I am.” Bucky repeats. He talks over Antonova’s next question, which he knows is extraordinarily rude, but he can’t seem to make himself feel bad about it. “I thought that Russian law only prevented gay couples from adopting children, or preaching equality to them. Is it illegal for the biological parent of a Russian child to be in a relationship? I mean...I’m dating a man. I’m not married to him.”

“Mr. Barnes,” Antonova huffs, “you cannot expect the Russian Federation to believe that although you are involved in a same-sex relationship, you have not, nor are you planning to, talk to your daughter about homosexual rights and marriage. You also cannot expect the Russian Federation to trust that there will not be a same-sex marriage in your future. You live in New York, Mr. Barnes, where same-sex marriage is legal. Russian law clearly states that no child of the Russian Federation should be given to a single parent living in a state or province that legally recognizes same-sex unions for exactly this reason: Russia does not want its children to be parented by same-sex couples.”

“Russia didn’t _give_ me my daughter.” Bucky protests. “She’s _mine_. My _biological_ daughter.”

“No one is denying that fact, Mr. Barnes.”

“Then why am I still here?” Bucky waves his hands a little. “I’m not married to anyone. I’m just trying to raise my daughter in peace.”

“You’re trying to raise your daughter, but you’re doing so in a country that she is not legally bound to. Your daughter is a Russian citizen, and should be in her home country. The fact that you have refused to return to Moscow despite your Father-In-Law’s most generous offers for room and board and a position as an overseer in a very profitable company seems to be due to your romantic ties to the man sitting behind you.” Antonova persists, even while Bucky shakes his head at her. “You are aware that your relationship to this man will be illegal in Russia, and so you’ve refused to return despite the fact that your daughter is not a citizen of the United States.”

“No.” Bucky denies. “That’s not why I’m - Aleksander never wanted me to move outside of Russia. I’ve been refusing to move back even before I _left_ Russia, this has nothing to do with my relationship with Steve.” His words don’t seem to make any difference.

The room is still buzzing with talk, and Fury calls for attention when it doesn’t die down. “If Russia is finished questioning Mr. Barnes for today, then we can all agree to return in one week, as was the original plan.”

The second dismissal is successful, and Bucky manages to escape the Assembly Hall with Vanya and Steve in tow.

**xxiv**

For the next three weeks, there are reporters constantly following them around - Bucky can barely step outside of his house these days, and Steve doesn’t fare much better than him. Vanya is an entirely different story as well, considering how protective Bucky is over her. He bristles at the mere mention of taking his daughter outside while there are swarms of paparazzi waiting to photograph the child at the center of the world’s biggest and most complicated custody battle. He prefers to stay indoors with her and try to pretend that everything is completely normal. He even goes as far as to remove her from ballet classes until further notice.

Natasha and Clint are great, as per usual. They come over with food and drink, and they stay for a while to just talk, or play with Vanya. Bucky finds it comforting, being able to unwind with Natasha over a beer while Clint entertains Vanya and Steve in the kitchen. However, the novelty of these nights rapidly wears off the longer the battle over Vanya rages. Bucky finds himself drinking more than talking, or listening more than engaging with his friends. Eventually, he takes to spending these nights quietly in his room while Natasha and Clint spend time with Steve and Vanya. It makes him feel awful, but trying to laugh while his mind is still wrapped around the previous day’s UN meeting makes him feel even worse, so Bucky has stopped trying.

Work is difficult, too. Bucky feels his coworkers staring at him while he does his job, and he begins to realize that friendly conversations between himself and the other men are all but nonexistent at this point. He wonders if it’s because of the international custody battle, or if it’s because he was revealed to be dating another man. There are unfriendly whispers, of course, and Bucky nearly breaks down and gets into a fist fight with a coworker with an enormous bias against anyone non-heterosexual. He restrains himself, thankfully, but it’s close enough that it has him on edge, worried about his every move being followed.

The President of the United States of America addresses the ongoing custody battle early one morning, which Bucky can’t quite believe. President Ellis is diplomatic, but adamant. He sides with Bucky, and believes that he shouldn’t be made to give his daughter away. It’s a huge weight off of Bucky’s shoulders - the men running the country are on his side. President Ellis is willing to work with Bucky to make it possible for Vanya to complete her citizenship. Russia is naturally not very pleased, but the fact that the ruler of the free world has just stepped into his side of the ring is enough to make Bucky feel better for a few days, at least.

Matt and Phil keep in contact frequently, offering sage advice, or simply dropping by with some encouraging words. Bucky appreciates it, because Nick Fury doesn’t visit quite as calmingly - Fury strategizes like he’s going to war and he’s dragging Bucky along for the ride. It’s soothing, in a way, to know that Fury at least knows what he’s doing, and that he’s on Bucky’s side, but nevertheless…

Steve is the only one besides Vanya who is a constant in Bucky’s life. He’s there when Bucky wakes up, he’s there when Bucky goes to sleep, and he’s there for all of the highs and lows that come along in between. Steve’s work outside of the home has slowed down some, though his drawing is near-constant now to make up for it. There are suddenly pictures pinned to the walls that Bucky doesn’t remember being there before and it’s nice, sometimes, to lay down with Vanya and listen while Steve spins story after story, taking them both away from the uncertainties of day-to-day life with his colorful cast of characters and strange alternate universes. Bucky learns to love _Captain America_ , and _Iron Man_ , and especially _The Avengers_ , which are all very colorful and surprisingly poignant for a series of unfinished comic books.

It’s still delightful to hear Vanya speaking English, Bucky thinks. But his favorite is, hands down, hearing Vanya calling Steve _Daddy._ There’s nothing quite like it. Steve adores Vanya, and Vanya clings to him like she would cling to Bucky on any given day. Bucky feels his heart swell every single time he hears Vanya calling Steve by his new title, and if the look on Steve’s face is anything to go by, Steve feels the exact same way.

“Aleksander is going to be at the next meeting.” Bucky sighs against Steve’s neck while he lays on top of him one night. They’re post-coital and sleepy, both sticky with sweat and other various fluids, but the reality of those words sobers them both grudgingly into awareness.

“Are you ready to see him face to face?” Steve asks.

Bucky sighs again. “No.” He says, and rolls off of Steve when he’s swatted on his flank. “Is it wrong of me to wish for him to assault me, just so I can have an excuse to break his nose?”

Steve gives a snort that doesn’t sound brought on entirely by amusement. “I don’t think so. Actually, if all you want to do is break his nose, I’d say that’s pretty tame.”

“I think that’s all I would be able to get away with in a room full of witnesses.” Bucky laughs.

“Stop.” Steve chuckles, and rolls over. He throws a heavy arm over Bucky’s torso and hauls him in against his chest. “Tomorrow will be fine. No one needs to break anyone’s noses. You’ll see.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” Bucky grunts. “I’d like to see something good happen at one of these meetings, for once.”

“It’s coming.” Steve promised. “Just like you could be, if you wanna let me…”

“Oh, Jesus. Steve...what are you, some kind of animal?” Bucky groans, feeling Steve’s dick poking against his hip. He chuckles at the tiny growl Steve makes for show, then sighs and allows himself to be thoroughly taken over with kisses. “Okay, fine.” He concedes, and Steve is moving to get on top of him ridiculously fast.

“I know that things aren’t so great right now.” Steve mutters as he runs his hands over Bucky’s chest and stomach. “But it’ll get better. We can move past this. Fury seems confident in his strategies, and you’ve been great at these meetings, plus now we’ve got President Ellis making that statement about believing that Vanya is better off with us - ”

“I thought that you were going to try and make me come, not pin me down and give me a pep talk.” Bucky grunts, trying to shy away from such heavy topics for the time being. He bucks his hips as best as he can and Steve pinches him lightly on his left nipple in return, making him gasp and squirm in surprise.

“I’m getting to that.” Steve assures. He grins, leans down to plant a firm, wet, kiss against Bucky’s lips, and then sits back on his heels. He settles comfortably between Bucky’s spread legs. “I just really wanted to make sure that you know that things can, and will, get better. I’m with you til’ the end, no matter how rough this gets.”

“Even tomorrow?” Bucky challenges.

Steve pushes Bucky’s leg up, exposing him, and settles in close. “Definitely tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that. And after…”

Bucky closes his eyes and grins.

**xxv**

To the meeting at the UN the very next day, Aleksander wears a gray suit, black shoes, and a piteous expression. He completes the ensemble with a silk handkerchief that he pulls from the breast pocket of his jacket and uses it to dab at his moistened eyes. Bucky is in a brown sports jacket that matches the color of his shoes, dark denim jeans, and a white button up shirt. He has no handkerchief to pretend to cry into.

“If I could just go over and see her up close for a moment…” Aleksander says, speaking into his microphone calmly and with just a _hint_ of desperation.

“Mr. Lukin, this isn’t the time, nor is it the place.” Fury denies as kindly as possible. “While we all know just how hard it must be for you, I must insist that we continue on with this meeting without adding any more unnecessary hardship.” Bucky resists the urge to smirk at Aleksander’s brief, but obvious, glare of annoyance. Instead, he holds Vanya a little closer to himself, since she’s sitting on his lap today, instead of Steve’s.

“Very well.” Lukin recovers smoothly, and sniffs. He puts his handkerchief back into his breast pocket and folds his hands over one another on the desk. He locks eyes with Bucky as he speaks again, no trace of anguish in his eyes or voice. “I would very much like to have my Granddaughter back home with me. As the room is well aware, I’ve made my intentions very public: Vanya is my only remaining family after my daughter passed away. I would want nothing but the very best for her. As it is, while I would never question James’ ability as a parent, I feel that he is not within the right company to be caring for a child. Especially my Granddaughter who is, and always has been, a rightful citizen of Russia.”

“Mr. Lukin, you are aware that Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers are both American citizens.” Fury says, not bothering to disguise his words in the form of what would have made a redundant question. “So long as they live in the United States of America, they are entitled to form relationships with whomever they so choose. It just so happens that your former son-in-law has chosen to date a person of the same gender. This isn’t illegal, and it isn’t illegal for gay men to raise a child together.”

“American law should not be applied in the case of this particular child.” Antonova interjects. “The child is a citizen of the Russian Federation, and our law is very clear that no child from Russia will be allowed to be raised in a home parented by same-sex couples.”

“Russia should also remember that their laws prevents the adoption of Russian children to same-sex couples.” The German Ambassador, Adam Otto, says. “Mr. Barnes is not adopting his own daughter.”

“And disregarding the rules of adoption, the child in question is in a very loving and balanced household.” Gail Toussaint, France’s Ambassador, says. She is tall enough that she needs to brace herself on her desk and lean in, in order to speak clearly into her microphone. “The nation of France sees no need to separate a child from her biological parent when the parent is causing her no harm.”

“The nation of France is suggesting that the true nationality of the child in question be disregarded?” Antonova wonders, and turns her steely gaze on Toussaint, who takes a moment too long to answer and loses the opportunity entirely.

“Mr. Barnes was in the process of completing his daughter’s citizenship when Mr. Lukin decided to begin a custody battle. I believe that Russia has forgotten this.” Otto jumps in rapidly.

“Not only was Mr. Barnes working with the United States government to complete his daughter’s citizenship, he was allowing Mr. Lukin frequent visits with the child in question.” Himura, Shou (Japan) reminds. His gaze shifts towards Bucky for the briefest of moments, and then back at Antonova. “Mr. Lukin claims that Mr. Barnes left Moscow and that there was little to no communication between them after that. But in fact, not only has Mr. Lukin travelled to America many times in the nearly two years since Mr. Barnes relocated, Mr. Barnes has been more than willing to arrange visits during which Mr. Lukin was able to see his Granddaughter.”

“It is understood that Mr. Lukin did not have an issue with the idea that his Granddaughter was living with her Father in America.” David Martel (Canada) adds. “Only after Mr. Barnes’ relationship with Mr. Rogers became apparent to him did Mr. Lukin seek action.”

“Mr. Lukin acted as any citizen of the Russian Federation would.” Antonova defends, while Lukin’s expression sours. “He wants nothing but the best for his Granddaughter, and when he felt that she was no longer in a safe environment, he sought help in order to claim the child for himself so that he may care for her.”

“If Russia would like to give evidence to the idea that the child in question is _not_ in a safe environment, America - and the rest of the room - would be grateful to hear it.” Fury spoke. Bucky peeks at Fury a little, relieved when he sees the man looking so calm and in control. The meeting isn’t going as badly as Bucky initially imagined, though there are still certain things that make him nervous. Mexico for instance, has backed away from their microphone entirely, no longer defending Bucky or his right to his daughter, and that betrayal hurts a lot more than Bucky might have expected, had he seen it coming.

“If I could amend the previous statement made by Ms. Antonova.” Lukin speaks up suddenly.

Bucky resists the urge to narrow his eyes. Instead, he holds onto Vanya, and gently discourages her from waving at her Grandpa. It truly strikes him then that Vanya has absolutely no idea of what’s going on. It twists his heart a little to think of her innocence and of all the hurt that she’ll feel once she’s old enough to fully comprehend the situation. All Bucky can do now is hold her hands in his own and whisper to her not to wave, to be quiet please, and to be a good girl for a little bit longer.

“I don’t necessarily believe that my Granddaughter is in an unsafe environment.” Lukin continues. “I do not agree with the lifestyle that James has chosen for himself, nor do I want Vanya to be around it, but he has no ill intentions when it involves his child. However, the man with whom James is involved with…” Lukin’s eyes dart sideways and he looks over Bucky’s shoulder at Steve. “I do not believe that he’s someone that I would want around my Granddaughter. He is the reason why I took action, even more than I had before.”

Bucky blinks in surprise and blurts out, before he can help himself: “Steve? What about Steve made you want to take my daughter from me, Aleksander?”

“James,” Fury says at the same time that Steve hisses “Bucky,” but both are ignored when Lukin responds to Bucky directly.

“He is a stranger. He has no right to my Granddaughter - to teach her to address him as her _Father_ \- “

“Vanya learned that all by herself.” Bucky defends. “No one taught her to say that. When she called him ‘Dad’ here, that was the first time either of us have heard her say it.”

“I think that Mr. Lukin brings up another very important piece of the puzzle.” Antonova interjects, silencing both Lukin and Bucky before either man can jump down each other’s throats. “Mr. Barnes, would you care to tell us what, exactly, Mr. Rogers does for a living?”

Bucky frowns. He doesn’t want to talk about Steve, he wants to talk to Aleksander, but one look at Fury tells him that he has to answer the question. “He’s an artist.” He says at last.

“An artist.” Antonova repeats. Her tone suggests that she couldn’t be further from impressed if she tried. “So Mr. Rogers stays home very often to...draw?”

“Yes.” Bucky’s eyes narrow at the older woman despite his best efforts. “But he works outside of the house, too.”

“And what sort of work would he be found doing?”

“Photography.” Bucky lists. Antonova only raises one eyebrow while Lukin sighs and shakes his head minutely. “He also writes, and teaches art.”

Antonova shrugs and leans back in her seat a bit. “He sounds the artistic type, Mr. Barnes. And forgive me for saying so, but while that’s not a personality flaw, it certainly doesn’t pay the bills.”

“I believe that we’ve already covered the issue of finances.” Fury cuts in.

“For Mr. Barnes.” Antonova reminds. “There is no doubt that Mr. Barnes can provide very comfortably for his daughter. That statement was merely born from the idea of Mr. Rogers living in Mr. Barnes’ home, rarely working, whether it be outside of in, and primarily caring for a four-year-old child who doesn’t speak a common language with him.” She leans back in, her words louder now that she’s deliberately talking into the microphone. “Mr. Rogers’ name is not on any of the utility bills, is it Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky knows the answer. He knows how it will sound, so he tries to respond and explain all at once. “Only because I lived there first, I didn’t bother to change any of the bills, but he - “

“Is his name on any utility bill?” Antonova presses. Bucky grits his teeth. He stubbornly doesn’t answer, but even that lack of response is enough for Antonova to work with. She clicks her tongue and flips a page over from a folder in front of her while the rest of the room goes deathly silent. “And yet he has the resources with which he owns and maintains the upkeep of a rather expensive American made sports car.” The other Ambassadors in the room all murmur to themselves in obvious surprise.

The goddamn Corvette. Bucky looks back at Steve and wishes he hadn’t - Steve’s skin is white and clammy, and his eyes are huge and panicked. He glances at Bucky and parts his lips like he wants to speak, but then looks over Bucky’s head (presumably at Fury) and stops before he can start. He puts himself together little by little; his eyes are no longer too wide, but his skin still looks pale as he sits and listens as calmly as possible to the debate. Bucky turns around slowly and looks from one face to another.

Otto looks unhappily surprised, as do Toussaint, Martel, and Himura. Various other nations are glancing curiously down at Steve while others smugly lift their chins, as if they knew all along that this turnaround would happen. Bucky finds himself glaring daggers at Syria’s representative, who returns the favor quite nicely when his gaze lands on Bucky.

“The car…” Bucky begins, and can’t make himself say the words. There’s no way that anyone in this room is going to believe Steve’s dumb ass story of the car being a _gift_ , of all things.

“Mr. Barnes, we do not need to hear the story behind the car.” Antonova sighs. “I believe that Mr. Lukin is right - Mr. Rogers is very clearly _not_ suited to be given the opportunity to raise a child. And I will only further support that claim and remind the room that the child that Mr. Rogers has a hand in raising is a citizen of Russia. Tell me, Mr. Barnes, how well versed is your daughter in the English language? Has she done well in school thus far?”

“She’s not…” Bucky knows where this is going, and he lifts his chin while he answers, hoping to appear a bit more confident. In reality, his hands are shaking as he holds his daughter around the waist and tries not to bounce his leg. “She’s not in school right now.”

Antonova nods - she knew that already. “And how do you imagine her to learn to communicate with children her own age if she never goes to school, and never learns English?”

“She’s learning English.” Bucky snaps. He glances down at Vanya - she’s clutching his shirt, her head ducked underneath his chin as she gazes around the room. She isn’t shaking, but Bucky can tell by her posture that she’s afraid. They’re in a room full of strangers who are all taking turns shouting at each other, and she doesn’t understand half of what they’re saying. He kisses the top of Vanya’s head and murmurs to her quietly. “Do you want to go sit with Steve?” He asks her, in English, and smiles lopsidedly when she nods. “Go.” He tells her, and sets her on her feet.

As Vanya trots dutifully to Steve and is lifted into his arms instead, Bucky looks back at Antonova. She’s looking back at him with a fierce frown. “She’s only four.” He says. “She’s not old enough for kindergarten yet, so for a while I had a tutor coming in three times a week to work with her. These days, we just speak English around her, read to her in English, watch movies in English, and she’s smart enough that she’s learned a lot from that. She’ll be ready for school thanks to Steve. He works with her all day, every day, especially when I’m not home.”

“There are grade schools designed to cater specifically to children your daughter’s age, Mr. Barnes. Would you rather keep her cooped up inside of a house with a man she has no blood relation to rather than introduce her to children her own age?” Antonova looks down at her papers and sighs before she flips her manilla folder shut. She removes her glasses as she speaks again. “By your refusal of Aleksander Lukin’s most generous offers, we can only assume that you chose to stay in New York not for your daughter, but for the sole purpose of remaining with your partner.”

“I stayed in New York because I want to raise my daughter in Brooklyn!” Bucky snaps, a cold shiver running up and down his spine. He swallows hard when Fury puts a hand on his shoulder and tries his best to lower his voice while half of the room begins muttering about his outburst. “I moved us here because I know that I can provide for Vanya here. Her Mother and I always planned to move one day, but we never got the chance while she was alive.” He takes a shaky breath and releases it while he locks eyes with Aleksander. “Darya wanted Vanya to grow up in Brooklyn. She wanted her to live somewhere where she could be herself - whoever she might grow up to be.”

“I’m sure that we can end today’s meeting on that note.” Fury says. Antonova looks as if she wants to keep arguing, but holds her tongue at the last minute. She’s done enough damage, Bucky realizes - there are whispers among the other nations concerning himself and Steve. Antonova has placed enough doubt and suspicion into the other nations’ heads that all she needs to do is let them think on it long and hard. It makes Bucky break out into a cold sweat, and he’s glad that he’s half-hidden behind a desk, because his hands shake and he tries desperately to stop them by grasping at his knees.

Fury ends the meeting, and the world watches Bucky leave the Assembly Hall for the second time. This time, he’s holding Steve’s hand while Vanya clings to Steve’s neck. Whispers and gasps follow them all the way out, and once they’re home, their pictures are all over the news.

Bucky tries not to feel helpless and, sadly, fails.

**xxvi**

Another three weeks later finds Bucky in a much more desperate place. The meetings at the UN have not gotten better for him, and he’s growing increasingly more afraid of losing his daughter by the minute. Every time he turns on his television, there’s Lukin, pleading for Vanya and promising her the world - or there’s Steve, being painted out to be some kind of leech. The majority of America is on his side, but even those that are not - though their numbers are smaller - make Bucky’s skin crawl.

Bucky goes to work, comes home, and goes to meet with either Fury of the United Nations. There is no more time to spend with friends, or time to take Vanya anywhere fun, and he feels like he’s losing his grip on reality. He’s afraid all of the time, and he can’t sleep because he has horrible nightmares that involve him losing his daughter - Antonova in the UN, reaching down impossibly far just to snatch Vanya out of Bucky’s arms and handing her over to Lukin. Lukin smiling wickedly and whisking Vanya away forever, out of Bucky’s reach and too far to hear his voice as he screams after her, begging for her to come back -

Bucky’s stopped eating regularly, and he forgets to shave most days. When he isn’t needed at work or in the courtroom, he spends hours in bed, lying down pretending to sleep. He has no real drive anymore, too crippled by fear to face the day, and he’s aware that he’s spiraling out of control, that he’s proving Antonova right, but he has no idea what to do. He has a feeling that he’s going to lose this case, and the thought of losing his daughter terrifies him. She’s only four-years-old, how can someone even fathom taking her away from her _Father?_ Bucky is all that Vanya has ever known. He doesn’t want to imagine what his life will become without her, just the way he hates to think of her living in Russia without him.

Bucky finds himself on the couch one day. It’s evening time, six-ish, and he’s glassy eyed as they news plays on the television across the room. The fights in Syria are getting worse, and now other countries are beginning to behave accordingly. The Middle East is a warzone. And yet despite the bombs and firefights and genocide, there’s still time for television to broadcast the latest developments in Bucky’s case against Aleksander. It isn’t looking good - Bucky doesn’t know why they feel the need to keep saying the same thing over and over again.

“Papa!” Vanya screams from somewhere down the hall. Bucky flinches, and lifts his head, his bones creaking from sudden movement after he’s been lying on his side for hours now. “Papa, Daddy sick! Sick!” She comes bounding down the hallway a moment later and launches herself onto the couch. Bucky grunts when she slams her hands into his ribs, but rolls over and allows her to sit on his chest. “Sick.” Vanya says again. She tugs on Bucky’s shirt. She doesn’t look scared, just concerned.

“Who’s sick?” Bucky wonders, and shushes Vanya as she tugs on his shirt a little more.

“Daddy.” Vanya says. She points down the hallway. Bucky lifts his head to see, and Steve is just now stumbling out of the bedroom, coughing into his hand and walking with a hand against the wall.

“Steve?” Bucky asks. He sits up suddenly, arms snaking around Vanya’s body to keep her from falling off of the couch. He stands up and sets her on her feet before he rushes over to meet Steve halfway down the hall. “What’s wrong?” He wonders, trying to talk over the noise Steve is making. His coughs sound dry and awful.

“M’fine.” Steve wheezes. “You - “ another cough, “ - you seen my inhaler?”

“Yeah.” Bucky says, rubbing at Steve’s chest. “Yeah. Hang on.” He has to pull away in order to search for the inhaler, and he does so quickly. He heads down the hallway and into their bedroom, making a beeline for the bedside table and yanking open the drawer. Sure enough, Steve’s inhaler is there, but as Bucky pulls it out and shakes it, he frowns when he doesn’t hear anything rattling around inside. A quick check tells him why. “You didn’t refill this.” Bucky says very sternly as he walks back into the living room, inhaler in hand.

Steve is sitting down on the couch now, very obviously wheezing while Vanya pats his back comfortingly. Steve picks his head up when Bucky speaks, and he squints at the inhaler in Bucky’s hand. “I didn’t?” He rasps.

“It’s empty.” Bucky announces, and tosses the inhaler into Steve’s lap. “You’re supposed to get a refill as soon as it runs out. Now what are we going to do for you?” He demands, and crosses his arms while Steve rubs at his temple with one hand and stares at the empty inhaler in his other.

“I’ll be fine.” Steve manages. His voice is choked, and his breathing is shallow. Bucky doesn’t want to stand around and take the chance that Steve will be ‘fine’ when he’s fairly sure that his lips already look a little blue.

“Come on.” Bucky says. “We’re doing this the old fashion way.”

A pot of lightly boiling water later, and Steve is standing at the stove, hunched over with a towel draped over the back of his head, inhaling steam. His breathing is getting better, and he can talk without too much difficulty.

“What brought the attack on?” Bucky wonders. He’s behind Steve, rubbing his back in small circles to further soothe him. Vanya is coloring at the kitchen table off to their left.

“Cleaning.” Steve sniffs. “I was cleaning the bathroom, and the cleansers just got to me, I guess.”

“Of course they did. You’re supposed to wear a mask, or something. Or let me know so that I can take over after you spray them.” Bucky shakes his head. “At the very least, Steve, you should make sure that your inhaler is full before you start cleaning and breathing in all kinds of junk. You could have died.”

“I forgot to refill it.” Steve says, and shrugs underneath Bucky’s hand. “It’s been a pretty crazy week. It must have just slipped my mind.” He tries to straighten up, but Bucky firmly keeps him hunched over with the hand at Steve’s back.

Bucky feels guilt weighing him down like a pile of bricks. Normally, he’s very in tune with Steve, and he knows when they need to refill his inhaler, or buy more allergy meds, or clean the bathroom to prevent any mold from growing, which can possibly trigger an asthma attack for Steve… And now Bucky barely remembers to eat every morning, and he’s interacting less and less with just about everyone outside of the UN. He doesn’t spend hours drawing with Vanya in her room, and he doesn’t watch movies with her. Steve is the one reading to her, and telling her about his stories, or coloring pictures with her. Steve is the one being a parent, while Bucky lies on the couch feeling scared and lonely.

“Well,” Bucky says, and rubs Steve’s back again. “we’ll go to the pharmacy tomorrow. We can’t just not refill it and hope for the best.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighs. They’re quiet for a long moment, and Steve sniffles underneath the towel on his head, presumably because the steam makes his nose run. “Listen - “ He starts.

“Don’t.” Bucky says. “Please. Not right now.” He doesn’t need another pep talk. All they do for him now is stress him out even more than he is already.

“I was just going to tell you that I’m really sorry.” Steve presses. He sounds so guilty and ashamed - Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“For what?” Bucky wonders. “You’ve got asthma. It’s not really a big deal, I don’t mind doing this - “

“I’m not talking about the asthma.” Steve says. “I mean...I’m sorry for everything else. For everything that’s going on with Vanya. I...I think that if I wasn’t in the picture, you would have won this case a long time ago. I’ve just made it worse for you, and I feel awful, Buck, I really do.”

“Shut up, Steve.” Bucky pulls his hand away from Steve’s back.

Steve stands straight, the towel falling to rest on his shoulders, and turns around to face Bucky. His face is a little red from the heat of the steam, but at least he has some color after the attack had drained it all from him. “I’m serious.” He starts.

“I know you are. That’s why I told you to shut up.” Bucky grumbles, and narrows his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because it’s a dumb thing to say to a guy, that’s why.” Bucky snaps.

“I don’t think it is. I just wanted to let you know that I never intended to - “

‘Of course you didn’t!” Bucky cuts Steve off. From the corner of his eye, he sees Vanya give a little start of surprise, and quickly lowers his voice as she stares at the two of them, wide eyed. “I’m pretty fucking confident that you didn’t intend to come into my life in the hopes that one day my asshole ex-Father-In-Law would use you against me in a meeting with the UN during a custody battle for my daughter. That would be a pretty fucking wild thing to intend to do.”

“Don’t be a dick.” Steve hisses at him. “Just let me apologize, and don’t lash out at me.”

“I’m not lashing out at you. I’m just…” Bucky isn’t sure how to describe what he’s doing. He fumbles for words for a while, then gives up and sighs heavily, rubbing at his eyes with both hands, fisted in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He eventually confesses, and sighs. When he lowers his hands from his face and begins to blink away the stars from his vision, he sees Steve’s sympathetic expression aimed directly at him. Steve is probably going to hug him, maybe tell him that everything is going to be okay (again), but Bucky doesn’t feel like being comforted right now.

Luckily enough for Bucky, there’s a loud series of knocks on the front door just then, which interrupts the moment perfectly.

“I’ll get it.” Bucky says. He side-steps Steve and walks around him, heading for the front of the house. “Stay there, and keep breathing in that steam.” He instructs over his shoulder. To Vanya he simply holds out a hand, a signal for her to stay put since he sees her already wriggling out of her seat like she wants to be the one to answer the door.

Bucky peers through the peephole before he even considers opening the door. He’s been caught like this by one too many paparazzi and he’s learned his lesson. “Who’s there?” He calls out.

The man standing on the porch is dressed in blue jeans, a black button up shirt that looks like silk, and a brown leather jacket over his shoulder that matches his belt and his shoes. He’s average height, black hair and brown eyes, and has some neatly trimmed facial hair on his chin and upper lip. He looks younger than Bucky’s twenty-nine, maybe in his early twenties at best. He looks at the peephole suspiciously before he squints and leans in, as if trying to peer inside.

“A billionaire.” The man responds to Bucky’s question at last. Bucky can’t see anything besides one big, round, brown iris now.

“Very funny.” Bucky huffs, and steps away from the door.

“I’m serious!” The man shouts, hearing Bucky’s fading footsteps no doubt. “Shit, I thought that you would _recognize_ me… Come on, let me in! I’m a friend! I know Steve!” Bucky pauses and turns back to look at the door. He raises an eyebrow and, as if sensing it from the other side, the man goes on. “I’m friends with Steve Rogers, and I’m hear to talk to him. And you. You’re James Barnes, right? Look, I came all the way from Malibu to see you, so the least you could do is invite me in for some coffee or something.”

Still highly skeptical, Bucky slowly approaches the door again. He looks back out through the peephole and sees that the man is standing an appropriate distance away, now, looking slightly sheepish as he grins and rocks on his heels. Bucky tries to see around him, and can’t make out any other people that might be with him. He sighs, puts his hand on the doorknob, and unlocks it before opening the door a good three inches.

Bucky is just about to peer outside through the crack he’s made when all of a sudden the man nudges the door the rest of the way open with his shoulder. Bucky is too surprised to keep a good grip on the door and watches with wide eyes as the man waltzes into the house like he pays rent.

“Ah, there we go.” The man says, shrugging off his jacket. He throws it over the back of the couch because now he’s inside of the living room, wandering around and touching everything, examining and replacing every trinket or picture he comes across. “Hey, nice lamp.” He comments, flicking the shade of said lamp. He turns in a circle, looks over the whole living room, and nods in apparent approval. “Not bad. This is a nice place. I dig the whole deliberately quirky vibe going on. Good energy. Great Feng Shui. I like that couch. Hey, is that the kitchen?”

“Stop!” Bucky shouts. He shuts and locks the door hastily, half-afraid that _more_ people are going to barge into his home if he doesn’t, and then chases after the man as he disappears around the corner and into the kitchen.

“Okay.” The stranger comments, and Bucky nearly slams into his back because he’s standing just on the border between living room and kitchen. “I’ve seen people do some strange things to cure hangovers, but snotting into a pot of water is not one that I’ve tried, personally.”

Steve lifts his head, surprised, while Bucky grabs a hold of the stranger, yanking him back a few steps by the elbow. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bucky demands. “Who the hell are you, pal? I don’t remember saying that you could come in and make yourself at home. I have half a mind to call the cops on your ass right now - “

“Buck, hang on.” Steve says hastily. He steps away from the stove and reaches out, grasping at Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing firmly. “Let him go. It’s okay, I know him, he’s a friend.”

Bucky pauses, disbelief in his voice as he asks, “What?”

“Yes, hi.” The stranger says. He reaches back awkwardly from the angle he’s in and extends his right hand for Bucky to shake. “Tony Stark. _Friend_ of Steve Rogers.”

Bucky lets the man go and takes a couple of steps back, narrowing his eyes at the stranger - at Tony, apparently. “Wait.” He says. “You’re - “

“A billionaire. Like I said I was.” Tony doesn’t look offended when Bucky doesn’t shake his hand. He just straightens out his shirt and smooths back his hair a little before he looks at Steve. “Hey, you.” He greets, smiling from ear to ear. He’s all but engulfed in a warm hug from Steve a moment later, and Tony laughs as he pats Steve on the back. “Easy, Sasquatch.”

“Tony.” Steve says, a laugh escaping him as he lets the man go and takes a step back to look him over. “It’s been _years_. What are you even doing here? How’d you know where to find me?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Well, that last part wasn’t hard at all, considering you’re trending on Twitter these days. A google search was all it took.” He looks at Vanya then, who has been sitting quietly in her chair the entire time. She’s got a green crayon in her hand, but she’s stopped coloring in order to observe Tony’s presence and interactions with Steve and Bucky. Tony waves at her and grins when Vanya cautiously waves back. “So, this is little _Red Dawn_ herself, huh? Geez, you’re cute. No wonder Mother Russia is willing to start World War Three for you.”

“Tony…” Steve begins warningly.

“Hey, back off.” Bucky says, nudging Tony in the arm and throwing him off half a step. As Tony looks slightly insulted and once again straightens his shirt, Bucky faces Steve. “You know this guy?” He demands. Steve grins lopsidedly and shrugs. “ _How?_ "

“I hired him as a private dancer for my birthday party.” Tony cuts in. Steve goes red all the way down to his neck, and Bucky just raises an eyebrow. “Okay, not really. We met in a bar like, three years ago. He drove me home after I got too drunk and I bought him a car as a thank you gift.”

Bucky feels himself blanch. “You _what_.” He blurts, but Tony is already talking again.

“By the way, you still have the Stingray.” He’s grinning at Steve. “Man, that’s an outdated model by now. Jesus. I would have thought that you would have sold it or something. That’s embarrassing. You should have emailed me or something, I would have traded it in for you - “

“It was a very nice gift, Tony. I didn’t want to get rid of it.” Steve shakes his head.

“ - maybe you could have gotten a nice minivan, you know, for the little one. But regardless, you’re sentimental and that’s okay, but at least let me get you a different car now that I’m here. I mean, a Corvette seemed like a good idea at the time but then again, I’m from California, where people can actually _drive_ sports cars. In New York it seems pretty useless. My bad.”

“You’re telling me that you gave Steve a car?” Bucky says, loud enough to join the conversation again. Tony turns to look at him. “A car. You bought Steve a car.” Bucky looks at Steve in awe. “A billionaire bought you a car.”

“How many times do I have to repeat things before they stick, Steve?” Tony wonders, stage-whispering.

“You don’t - he’s just - “ Steve sighs. He looks at Bucky and smiles innocently. “Yes, Buck. Tony bought me a car.”

“So you mean…” Bucky can’t believe that he’s saying this. “The Corvette really _was_ a gift?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you ever since you saw my car.” Steve waves his arms. “You never believed me!”

“Because the idea of someone giving another person a Corvette as a gift is the dumbest story I’ve ever heard!” Tony looks a little miffed at that, but Bucky doesn’t apologize. “I mean, who does that? You never said that the guy who makes Stark phones is the guy who gave you the car.”

“You wouldn’t have believed that story, either.” Steve says, and almost chuckles. He puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and pulls him closer to himself, reaching back to rub at his neck soothingly. “Okay, Tony.” Steve says. “You never answered the first question: what are you doing here?” Bucky is pretty damn curious about that, too, and looks over at Tony as well.

“Oh yeah.” Tony says and snaps his fingers as if he’d forgotten. “I’m here to help you.”

“Help us…?” Steve prompts when Tony doesn’t become any less vague.

Tony blinks at Steve like he’s low on brain cells. “With your case.” He looks at Bucky. “Your case, actually. _From Russia, with Love,_ more like _From Russia, no Take Backsies._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky bristles instantly, “but how the fuck do you expect to be of any help? And why the hell are you even bothering?”

Tony grins this time, showing teeth. He wiggles his eyebrows at Steve. “You’ve got yourself a feisty one, buddy.”

“Tony - “ Steve starts.

“Hey, asshole, I’m _right_ here.” Bucky finishes, tired of being ignored.

“ _Buck._ ” Steve hisses. He nods his head vigorously in Vanya’s direction. She’s still sitting in the same spot, still watching all three men as they argue/talk in the doorway, but she’s looking less and less interested in them by the minute. Still, Bucky is trying very hard not to swear around her, considering how easily she’s repeating words in English.

“Okay, look. I’ll explain everything in the living room.” Tony says, and promptly walks away.

Bucky exchanges looks with Steve, who shrugs. Sighing, Bucky pulls away from Steve and turns the stove off in the kitchen. On his way out he ruffles Vanya’s hair gently, then heads into the living room with Steve. Tony is already sprawled out on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. He’s holding a phone in his hand, looking horrified. “What happened?” Tony demands, and turns the phone around. Bucky realizes a moment later that the phone is his own - he recognizes the crack in the screen.

Bucky can’t help but be petty. He doesn’t know Tony, and yet the man is parading around his home like he’s lived there all his life. “The piece of shit broke.” Bucky states bluntly, hoping to strike a nerve. He sits down across from Tony and Steve joins him a moment later. “First time it got dropped, and that’s what happened. Your tech isn’t toddler-proof, that’s for damn sure.”

Tony frowns and his cheeks go kind of red like he’s mad and embarrassed all at once. Bucky remembers reading about Tony Stark a few times in the papers (when he can be bothered to read the papers at all) - he works for his Father’s electronics corporation, Stark Industries, where he designs and develops the company’s phones, tablets, computers, and mp3 players. Having one of his products insulted must sting, if his expression is anything to go by.

“Yeah, well.” Tony says, and doesn’t finish that line of thought. Instead, he turns Bucky’s phone over in his hand and takes off the backing.

“Hey, what are you - “ Bucky begins.

“Shh.” Tony insists. “Shh, shh…” He continues. Bucky watches mutely as Tony strips the battery from its designated slot, and then uses his nimble fingers to remove both SD and SIM card. Then, setting the phone, battery, and back cover aside, Tony reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and retrieves a much bigger, newer, cell phone. It’s slim, and red, and Tony takes the back off of that one, too. He strips out the battery and replaces the SD card and SIM card with the ones he took from Bucky’s phone. Then, after he’s turned the phone on, he holds it out for Bucky to take. “Here.” He says.

Bucky stares at him like he’s out of his mind. Fifteen minutes after meeting this man, and Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he is. “What?” He says. Tony just grunts, rolls his eyes, and sits up. He reaches over and grabs Bucky’s hand out of his lap, slaps the newer phone into Bucky’s palm, and then sits back down in the couch where he begins to reassemble the phone with the cracked screen. “What was that for?” Bucky wonders, staring at the phone he was just forced to take. “This doesn’t look like any of the phones out right now.”

“That’s because that model isn’t going to be available for another year.” Tony says with a grin. “You can keep it. I swapped out all of my data for yours. I’ll hang onto this poor little thing until I can get it repaired back at home.” He affectionately pats Bucky’s much smaller, much more broken, phone.

“Uh…” Bucky says. “Thanks…?” He’s starting to believe that this is the same man who bought Steve a Corvette just because he became his designated driver.

“Sure.” Tony waves a hand. “Now, as I was saying: I can help you win this custody battle over your daughter.”

“Yeah, about that - “

“Hand me my jacket, would you? I’ve got all of the files in there.” Tony makes grabby hands, not unlike the ones that Vanya does when she wants something, and points to the jacket that he had dropped over the back of the couch when he had first come inside.

Steve is the one who takes the jacket off of the back of the couch and hands it over. Tony mutters his thanks, then pulls out a portfolio folder from the inside of the jacket and promptly tosses the garment aside, where it lands on the arm of the couch and dangles like it’s ready to fall to the floor with just the slightest nudge.

“Okay, so, you’re familiar with Aleksander Lukin.” Tony begins, and then says, “right, of course” when Bucky glares at him.”Well, so am I. Not personally, but in an even more important and...intimate manner. And by that I mean financially.” Tony grins at Bucky’s expressions as they shift from disgust to relief. “I’ve been familiar with the guy since long before he started bawling like a baby on TV - my Dad says that he’s met him once, and that he’s sort of oily, if you’ll excuse the pun, my Dad makes stereotypical Dad jokes that are awful. Anyway. I’ve been keeping tabs on his numbers ever since. You know, how much money his company makes in a year, what prices he sells his oil for, to whom, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Wait.” Steve says, and frowns as Tony begins to pull out files with various numbers and graphs and starts laying them all out on the coffee table. “You’ve been keeping tabs on Aleksander Lukin’s income? _Why?_ ”

Tony snorts. “To catch him in the act. Duh.” He rolls his eyes.

“In the act.” Bucky repeats. He looks at Steve incredulously and then sighs heavily through his nose and hangs his head. “In the act of what?” He finally asks, knowing that it’s exactly what Tony wants to hear.

Tony grins like he’s just watched a movie that says its own title mid-dialogue - a mix of glee and smug satisfaction. “In the act of terrorism.” He announces. He looks like he wants shocked gasps, but instead Bucky and Steve only blink at him doubtfully. “Oh, come on…” Tony sighs. “Okay look, I’ll just _tell_ you what I’ve found.”

“Please.” Steve says, and Bucky just rolls his eyes.

“So, here are a few charts that I’ve made.” Tony says as he picks out a few papers with way too many numbers and letters and arrows pointing up and down and up again. “This is a visual map of all of Aleksander Lukin’s earnings throughout last year.” He announces rather proudly. “See, Roxxon Oil is not the only oil company in Russia. It’s history is pretty interesting in and of itself - it started off as a refinery for many of the big name soviet oil distributors. After the oil was ready, the refinery would ship it from it’s own personal train station. A few months before the collapse of the Soviet Union, Roxxon Oil was born thanks to the investment of Aleksander Lukin, who seized control of that particular branch. When the USSR fell, his company was sort of just scraping by in comparison to the other bigger, wealthier, companies since Aleksander had to actually go out and _look_ for oil. Remember, Roxxon started off as a refinery. No drilling done, there. You know, I think I have the figures from the late nineties in here too…”

Tony does some more digging and finally tosses some more papers onto the coffee table that Steve and Bucky both tilt their heads at. “Roxxon Oil didn’t start to rake in the big bucks until around 2003. See?” Tony turns one such paper around and Bucky rubs at his temples in confusion. “No?” Tony asks. He sighs. “Okay.” He sets the folder down completely and spreads his hands in front of himself. “Pretty much, this is what’s up: in early 2003, Roxxon Oil was suddenly _booming._ I’m talking some serious green, here, fellas. Lukin managed to catch up to the much older, larger, companies in record time. It’s what might be called a miraculous surge if I didn’t already know that it wasn’t no miracle that breathed life into Roxxon Oil.”

“Is there a point to this?” Bucky sighs. “You said that you were going to help me win the custody battle and while I didn’t really have high hopes in the beginning, I certainly don’t have them now.”

“Wait,” Steve says, and pats Bucky on the knee. “You said that you know why Roxxon Oil suddenly became so wealthy?” Tony nods enthusiastically. “Well, what happened?”

“That took a little while to find out, actually.” Tony says. “See, I had to go back and do some serious number crunching… I compared Roxxon to the other big name companies in Russia, and when it comes to Lukin’s company, his numbers...well, to be honest, they don’t really make sense. One of Russia’s largest oil companies has a revenue of about one hundred forty-one billion dollars, producing 1.813 million barrels of oil a day and selling it, on average, for about seventy US dollars per barrel. They’ve been at it for about forty years, mind you. Roxxon Oil, on the other hand, is about twenty-three years old, has a revenue that’s going to hit one hundred twelve billion US dollars within the next five years, and is selling nowhere near the amount of oil that the big guys are. Now, for this to make sense, Roxxon would need to be pricing it’s oil at six hundred eighty dollars per barrel. Now...I don’t know about you gents, but that seems kind of pricey. Either Lukin’s selling magical oil, or there’s something else going on.”

“Okay…” Bucky says. He’s rubbing his temples and staring down at the different files spread out on his coffee table. This all seems so surreal, and ridiculous, and it’s making his head hurt. “So, how does this all point towards terrorism?”

Tony claps his hands together. “Train routes.”

“Train routes?” Bucky and Steve repeat in unison.

“Jesus, you two are at that level of romance where you start saying things at the same time, that was weird, anyway - yes. Train routes. In fact, I have a map of that, too.” He rummages around in the pile of papers on the table and eventually comes up with a map, which he promptly unfolds. “Remember the train station I mentioned earlier? The one that belonged to the refinery before it became Roxxon Oil? Yeah, it’s still there, and Roxxon still uses it to distribute it’s oil. And as I’m sure you all have noticed, there’s been a crazy amount of violence in the Middle East lately. Protests, firefights, bombs… Well. Guess where one of Roxxon Oil’s delivery routes leads to?” He turns the map around and points, and both Steve and Bucky squint at the paper.

“Syria?” Steve reads in confusion.

“Syria, Iran, Kazakhstan, Afghanistan, and the Ukraine. Five different countries where there’s either been the threat of a civil war, or violent protests. Roxxon Oil frequently ships to these countries, and somehow, these violent uprisings never seem to come to an end.” Tony sighs and presses his lips together grimly. “Are you guys getting the bigger picture, now?”

“Not really.” Bucky sighs. “I worked at that company for a few years, loading cargo and shipping it out... What are you trying to say?”

“You worked there?” Tony asks, perking up. “All right then. Do you know what you were loading and shipping?”

“Well,” Bucky says, “oil, I assume. It’s an oil company.”

“An oil company that doesn’t pump as much oil as its competitors, but somehow still manages to make just as much money.” Tony waves his hands down at the papers. “Come on, Barnes! Did you ever see what it was that you were shipping, exactly?”

Bucky hesitates, eyes flicking down to the papers before he looks back up at Tony. “Well, no.” He says at last.

Tony sits back down calmly and crosses an ankle over his leg. “And there you have it. Nobody knew what they were shipping. But I had a pretty damn good idea, so just last month I sent a couple of close friends to kind of...snoop around. Banner and Hill, great guys. And girl. Anyway, they’re interested in Roxxon’s shady uprising as well, and they found exactly the proof I needed in order to say this with confidence: Aleksander Lukin is dealing weapons.”

“Wait,” Bucky says, and leans back a bit, as if distance will make this picture any more clear. “hold on. He’s...Aleksander is doing what?”

“Selling weapons.” Tony says, and makes finger guns with both hands. “Guns, assault rifles, RPGs, refurbished vehicles with machine guns strapped to the back - old soviet weapons mixed with some DIY toys. My sources got pictures and physical evidence in the form of nitrocellulose base powders found in some of the crates and inside of the warehouses. And in case you’re wondering, nitrocellulose base powders is used to make anything from armor piercing rifle rounds to homemade bombs. So - if I really need to point this out - no one in their right mind would put nitrocellulose compounds anywhere _near_ real oil.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say for a long time. He just listens to Tony as he talks, going on and on about his two-person team and their discoveries. It isn’t until Tony shows them pictures that Bucky physically removes himself from the conversation by shoving himself to his feet.

“Why are you here telling us, when you should be reporting this to someone who can actually do something about this?” He demands, hands balled into fists at his sides. “If this is all true…” The images from the television flood his mind. The bodies in the streets, children crying, car bombs exploding in the middle of a schoolyard, protesters waving signs and rifles in the streets while they march - if Tony is right (and it’s beginning to look like he is), every single act of violence on the news is because of Aleksander Lukin. It’s something that Bucky can’t wrap his mind around immediately.

“Well, seeing as I just got this information a couple of days ago, I figured that I would make this very long overdue trip to the UN with you guys.” Tony says with a bright smile. He begins to scoop up all of the papers from the coffee table then, not bothering to organize them before he shoves them into the folder, and the folder into his jacket. “See, there’s no way that the rest of the world is going to allow a terrorist to take a four-year-old child home with him. That’s the dumbest thing in the world. If I go to the UN with you at your next hearing, I can help out Aleksander Lukin for all his crimes, help you win custody of your daughter, and stop World War Three before it can begin. You win, I win, Lukin loses, the whole world is happy.”

“Damn…” Bucky curses under his breath. He steps away from the couch and paces from one end of the room to the other. He can see Vanya out of the corner of his eye as he passes the dining room area - she is still coloring happily, completely absorbed in her crayons and coloring books. “Dammit, I don’t… I can’t believe this…” He says shakily.

“Buck,” Steve says gently. When Bucky looks at him, Steve is grinning. “Bucky, you’re going to win. You don’t have to worry about losing Vanya. There’s no way that you can lose her, especially now. Tony - ”  Steve looks at Tony before he stands up and makes his way over to give the much shorter man another hug. “This is incredible, I don’t...thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, anytime.” Tony snorts. “Except, you know, hopefully you won’t need me to prove that a man is funding terrorism any given day of the week. I can only hope that you only have one true psychopath in your lives.”

Steve chuckles, then pulls away from Tony in order to go and wrap Bucky up in his arms instead. Bucky lets himself be hugged, halting his pacing and instead leaning heavily against Steve’s chest. “I can’t believe this.” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s collar bone and wraps his arms around the man’s waist. “Aleksander was doing...he’s the reason that all of those people overseas are dying, Steve. Shit, I - I helped load and ship thousands of crates from Roxxon Oil. I had a hand in that?” He makes a noise born from pure disgust and clenches his eyes shut.

“You had no idea. Just like a lot of people didn’t.” Steve soothes. “No one can blame you for that. It’s Aleksander that should be blamed, and appropriately punished.”

“I just can’t believe that he’d do something like that…” It’s hard for Bucky to imagine Lukin in any other way besides Vanya’s Grandfather, or his own Father-In-Law. Lukin was never a very warm, loving, man when it came to Bucky, but he had been so involved in Darya and Vanya’s lives that he had earned Bucky’s respect at some point along the line. Lukin had helped Bucky pay the bills when he lived in Moscow. Lukin had babysat Vanya countless times. Lukin had been mourning right along with Bucky at Darya’s funeral, and to think that all this time, Aleksander’s company has been selling weapons...turning a profit from the deaths of hundreds upon thousands of innocent people. It makes Bucky’s stomach churn. “He wanted to take my _daughter…_ ” Bucky says with disgust.

“But he won’t.” Steve insists, and rubs Bucky’s back as he hugs him. “He’s not taking her anywhere. Okay? Nowhere at all.”

“All I need to do is speak to the Ambassador, and we’re golden.” Tony chimes in. He’s no longer on the couch, Bucky notices - instead, Tony is sitting across from Vanya at the dining room table, coloring on a spare sheet of paper with a red crayon. “After he’s in on the plan, I’ll pop right on into the UN and out a terrorist.” He chuckles almost gleefully and then sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he concentrates on his coloring.

Bucky shakes his head at Tony, buries his face in Steve’s chest instead, and tries to cry happy tears as quietly as possible.

Vanya isn’t going _anywhere._

**xxvii**

From behind him, Bucky hears the sound of the back door sliding open and shut, and then footsteps on the porch. It’s two in the morning, and Bucky is standing in the backyard sneaking a quick smoke before he really settles down for the night. It’s been a ridiculously long day, full of so many twists and turns that Bucky’s head is still throbbing even with the nicotine hit.

“Thought you were sleepin’.” Bucky says without looking over his shoulder. He breathes out smoke and adds, “You shouldn’t be out here while I’m smoking, Steve.”

“Well for one, I’m not Steve. For two, I was wondering if I could bum one of those cancer sticks?” The person currently approaching from behind wonders, and Bucky easily recognizes the voice as ‘not Steve.’ “I heard you step out, and I got curious. Now that I see you’re smoking, I can probably spare a few minutes to take a hit, myself.” Tony is saying, and Bucky turns around to find the man standing on the third step of the porch. Tony’s hair is sticking up unnaturally, though his sleeping pants and shirt somehow seem perfectly preserved from any wrinkles.

Bucky sighs. He wonders how someone as rich as Tony Stark had ended up sleeping on his couch for the night. Tony hadn’t minded the couch, even though Steve insisted that he take Vanya’s room for the night. Bucky just finds it odd that Tony would want to sleep in someone else’s living room instead of in a nice hotel, but then again this guy is going to make it possible for Bucky to win a custody battle, so he isn’t going to turn him away or complain.

Tony is scratching his stomach and yawning. When he finishes (yawning, that is, because now he’s scratching his underarm and Bucky wonders if he‘s allergic to Walmart bed linen or something to be itching that much), he raises an eyebrow across the lawn at Bucky. “So can I have one?”

Bucky wordlessly pulls the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and holds it out for Tony to take one. Tony descends the porch steps lightly and plucks one cigarette out of the box, Bucky lights the cigarette for him, and then they stand in silence for a few blissful minutes, breathing smoke into the cool night air.

“Nervous about the next UN meeting?” Tony asks suddenly, and Bucky startles very slightly. When he looks back over at Tony, he finds that the man has sunk down to sit on the porch, his feet tapping a steady rhythm against the floorboard of the last step as he gets settled.

“Maybe.” Bucky shrugs. “Can’t help but to be nervous, you know?”

“Yeah.” Tony agrees. He takes a long pull from the butt of his cigarette, then watches the smoke fade into the darkness. “Come on. Take a seat.” Tony offers a moment later, and pats the step besides himself.

Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “What for?” He asks.

“Why not?”Tony snorts from his spot near the house. Bucky smirks a bit and shrugs his shoulders. Tony chuckles. It sounds sleep-thick and carefree. “Come on, Barnes.” Tony insists, and the sound of his hand patting the patio again rings out loud and clear.

Bucky is tired enough that sitting down to smoke sounds nice all of a sudden, and he crumbles like a mine collapsing. He wanders over towards the porch, footsteps heavy as he goes, and eventually he drops himself down onto a spot on the steps besides Tony. He scrubs a hand over his face as he settles, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He needs to shave, and soon. He doesn’t understand how Steve can still stand to be kissing him half as often as he is. Bucky thinks his face feels like a porcupine.

“So,” Tony starts. “I’m not gonna just sit around here on your porch in the dead of night not saying anything at all. And I don’t really like smoking in the first place.” Bucky is surprised to see Tony put out his cigarette so suddenly, and opens his mouth to protest the waste of a good smoke when he thinks better of it and stops himself. He can’t get used to smoking so often, Bucky thinks. He can’t afford to smell like smoke when Steve’s allergies have him wheezing within minutes of being around cigarettes. Besides, it isn’t good for Vanya, either. “I think I’ll fill the silence.” Tony prattles on, and Bucky leans back against the porch step behind him and raises an eyebrow. “That’s right, sit back and relax because it’s your lucky day, Barnes. I call this touching heart-to-heart moment ‘Uncle Tony’s story time.’” Tony makes a picture frame with his fingers and holds them up to the sky, as if he were reading his own title spelled out in the stars.

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, but makes no attempt to stop Tony from talking. He’s found that it’s a rather fruitless effort, anyway. Tony likes the sound of his own voice.

“The date was May 29th, two years and a few months ago from tonight.” Tony begins. “The setting: an old-timey bar in Brooklyn, New York because why not? The scene begins with a birthday celebration of a twenty one year old man, out to have his first legal drink with a group of friends. He’s not a virgin when it comes to the hard liquor, by any means - in fact, those nearest to him that night would call him something of an expert as he ordered round after round of various mixed drinks, beers, shots, and anything else that one could possibly imagine being served in a Brooklyn bar.” Bucky doesn’t want to look interested, but he’s listening earnestly now,  not knowing what to make of Tony’s idea of a story as the man prattles on. “The sky was the limit that night. The price tag didn’t matter. That young man was out to celebrate his twenty-one years of life with a good handful of friends and a bar full of strangers. He was armed to the teeth with a charmingly quirky personality, ravishing good looks, and a credit card that had his name on it and Daddy’s money inside.” It’s obvious who Tony is talking about, but Bucky doesn’t interrupt to ask why the hell Tony is talking about himself. Something in Tony’s voice is tipping Bucky off to the seriousness of the tale that’s being shared with him. Bucky lifts his head a little and straightens his spine, gaze wandering back to Tony and examining his profile. Tony’s looking straight ahead into the darkness of the backyard, his jaw set and his eyes uneasy. This is a story that’s not easy for him to tell, Bucky gathers that much.

Saying nothing, Bucky waits. Eventually, Tony sucks in a deep lungful of air and then lets it out a few seconds later. The continuation of his story tumbles out of his mouth along with it. “We’ll call our birthday boy Anthony. Actually, no one calls him Anthony, not even his Mother, so we’ll just stick to Tony because it makes him sound more approachable and easy-going.” His smile is about as dim as the porch light attracting bugs somewhere behind them, and Bucky nods, once, when he thinks that he ought to be reacting to the story somehow.

“So Tony is celebrating his birthday with booze and the company of people he considered his friends. He’s laughing a little too loudly and maybe he’s flirting a lot and being all around obnoxious and stupidly drunk, but for that one night, he makes himself feel like he’s really a part of something - that maybe he has a group of people that really care about him and are there to enjoy his company. See, let me give you a little back story on our inebriated leading man. Tony grew up in a big house and was born with that ever-coveted silver spoon in his mouth, wanting for nothing material and given only the best of everything: food, clothes, education… He had it all set up nicely, the road to a very comfortable life paved out for him before he could even walk - ”

“Okay,” Bucky interrupts then, leaning back again. He props himself up with his elbows on the step behind himself, stretching his legs out as far as he can., and looks sidelong at Tony. “Why don’t we quit with this third person bullshit? We both know that you’re talking about yourself.” The laugh he gets in response isn’t a surprise, but Tony nods and quiets down soon after, and Bucky settles in again, this time for a _proper_ story.

“Okay, okay.” Stark concedes. “Yeah, this is the story of my twenty-first birthday, and everything I said before is completely accurate." He sighs and drums his fingers against his knee. "I got piss drunk that night, celebrating the idea that I could finally drink legally. I was having a blast. I think I probably bought out the bar. Anyway, I invited some college acquaintances to come and drink with me and somehow word got out that the rich kid was buying rounds at such-and-such bar, yadda, yadda, whatever, you know the drill. Strangers show up, wishing me a happy birthday and getting drunk off of my generosity. I'm too hammered to care. So I'm in this crowded bar with strangers toasting to my ability to get shitfaced publicly, and eventually I get drunk enough that I start feeling faint and having all kinds of weird blackout spells.”

Bucky takes another puff from his cigarette. He still has no idea why Tony is telling him this story - it seems sort of heavy, and personal, and he’s only known the man for less than half a day. He wonders if it’s just Tony’s way, or if there’s a point. Either way, he’s still only halfway done with his cigarette and figures that he might as well listen to a story while he smokes.

“I don’t remember very much of what happened after the third blackout.” Tony keeps going. “But I do remember coming to and realizing that nearly everybody that had been celebrating with me was gone. I was being ditched. I was drunk and alone on my twenty-first birthday, with no one to tell me that I’ve had too much to drink, or that I should probably call a cab. I was pretty pathetic.” He gives a small laugh that has no humor in it, and Bucky suddenly feels like he’s intruding on something, even though Tony is the one sharing the story with _him._ “So, I end up sitting down at some table and bawling my eyes out because, you know, I’m an emotional drunk okay? I got sad, and scared, because I might have been born in New York, but I grew up in California and have no sense of direction when it comes to Brooklyn, or any of the other boroughs for that matter, whether I’m sober or drunk.

So there I am, sad and alone, crying because I’m drunk and can’t even remember what hotel I’m staying at, when this guy comes right on up to me and asks if I‘m okay. Even though I’m drunk, I think it’s a really dumb question, but all I can do is shake my head no. And this guy - a stranger, but no one I remembered seeing when my party had been going on - he just nods and puts his jacket over my shoulders and says that he’ll give me a ride home.”

“Nice guy.” Bucky murmurs.

“Mm. Very.” Tony agrees, grinning at Bucky briefly.

“Not smart to get into cars with strange men when you’re drunk, though.”

“No, it isn’t.” Tony sighs. “I was just lucky that this guy had no bad intentions.” He shrugs his shoulders and looks down at the grass on the lawn when he goes back to the story. “He got me into the backseat of his car, which wasn’t easy because I got dizzy when I so much as sat upright, and after that he drove around for what felt like hours, asking me if I remembered what my hotel looked like, and pointing out all kinds of different ones. I was so far gone that I couldn’t remember anything, so I just kept right on sobbing my brains out. Ugh, so embarrassing. Anyway. I cried hard enough that I eventually puked in his car.”

“Huh?” Bucky asks, wrinkling his nose. “Dude…”

“I know, I know, it’s gross. But this guy...man, he didn’t even get mad at me. He didn’t kick me out of his car, or yell. He pulled over on the side of the road, rubbed my back, and let me finish. Then he cleaned my face somehow and let me lie back down. He said that he was going to get me somewhere safe so that I could sleep it off. I was so far gone that I just nodded. Again, I know that it was extraordinarily dangerous for me to be drunk and in a car with a stranger, but I was really sick that night. I had never been that drunk before. It was awful.” Tony actually puts his head down, then, and sighs, his shoulders slumping. “The guy ended up taking me to his place, believe it or not. He carried me out of the car, into his apartment, and to his bedroom where he took off my shoes, shirt, and pants. He left me in my socks and underwear, then helped me slip into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top.”

“Uh.” Bucky murmurs, and raises an eyebrow. “Okay? So this dude takes you home and plays dress up with you. Tony...why are you telling me this? It seems like it’s coming out of left field here, and I don’t mind if you share with me, I’d just like to know why.”

Tony keeps his head down for a moment longer, then looks sideways at Bucky. His eyes are a little red, but his smile is sheepish and genuine. “Yeah. Duh. Of course you’d like to know. Oops.” Tony chuckles. He lifts his head and stretches his legs out in front of himself. “Well, I don't normally share this story if I don’t have to. It’s from a very low point in my life.” Tony mutters. “But I figured that you’d appreciate hearing it. The guy that took care of me that night was Steve. That’s how we met: I was drunk and near inconsolable, and he was just passing through for a quick drink before he saw me and felt bad enough to offer me a ride home.”

Bucky stays quiet, his cigarette burning out slowly as he holds it between two fingers. He considers the story Tony has just shared with him, and finds that it’s very believable, in a way. It sounds like something that Steve would have done, in that situation. “So…” Bucky begins, and clears his throat. “So, Steve let you crash at his place. And you…”

“Felt bad about puking in his car, so I bought him a new one.” Tony shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah. I was so embarrassed when I woke up, and still ridiculously sick. I kept apologizing, and he was so reassuring, telling me not to worry about the car, or for putting him out of his bed - because he let me take the bed instead of the couch, I mean, who _does_ that? I had to pay him back somehow.” Grinning, Tony elbowed Bucky lightly in the ribs. “That was actually the last really expensive thing that I ever bought. After that night, I quietly put myself in rehab, went to AA meetings, and pretty much ditched all of my so-called friends for much calmer, healthier friendships with people who actually give a damn about me. I’ve been sober ever since that night. I never wanted to get that drunk or scared again, and as kind as Steve was to me, I didn’t want to ever leave my own safety in somebody else’s hands - I got scared thinking about the fact that if Steve had been anybody else that night, I’d have been beaten, mugged, or worse.”

Bucky is rapidly losing interest in his cigarette. He’s too tired to puff on it anymore, and it’s getting late anyway. He slowly puts it out next to the one that Tony had discarded and scrubbed his hands over his face. “That’s some story.” Bucky murmurs. His mind is still replaying each and every scenario that Tony had described. Steve had been there for a stranger in need; he had helped him out of a bar and took responsibility for a guy that he didn’t even know, cleaned him up, put him to bed, and knowing Steve, expected nothing in return.

“Steve’s a good man.” Tony says, vocalizing Bucky’s thoughts. Bucky nods silently, a small smile pulling at his lips. “When I saw you two on the news, and who you were up against, I guess...I guess I’m still trying to repay Steve, as silly as it sounds. It made me fight even harder to prove that something wasn’t quite right with Lukin’s company, and now here we are.”

“Thank you.” Bucky whispers. He clears his throat, emotion making him sound a little choked, and turns to face Tony completely. He offers him a grin. “You’re a handful. But you’ve really done the impossible. For the first time in months, I feel like I’ve got a shot to win this thing and keep my daughter with me.”

“You’ve got more than a shot, bucko.” Tony winks. He stands up abruptly and pats Bucky on the shoulder, once. “It’s in the bag.” Tony disappears back into the house, and Bucky stays sitting on the porch for a while longer, thinking.

It isn’t too much longer before Bucky follows Tony’s lead and wanders back inside. He passes the couch that Tony is snoring on, wondering just how the hell Tony had fallen asleep so quickly, and makes his way as silently as possible towards the back of the house. Vanya is asleep in her bed, peaceful and all curled up with her favorite stuffed toy. Bucky gives her a kiss goodnight before he shuts her door about halfway and continues towards his own room.

Steve is snoring, so Bucky makes a beeline for the bathroom. He needs to wash the smell of smoke off of his body if he wants to be able to sleep undisturbed besides Steve all night, so he takes a quick, warm, shower. He spends a few extra minutes in the bathroom, shaving the stubble from his chin. By the time that he’s done washing up, Bucky looks at himself in the mirror and, aside from the dark circles under his eyes, sees _himself_ for the first time in what feels like eons. He looks ready to face the day and, after that, the world. His next meeting with the UN is in two days. Plenty of time to take Tony in to meet Fury so they can hash out a plan of attack, so to speak - Bucky is ready to see Aleksander fall and face the repercussions of his actions both past and present.

“Hey, what happened, I kind of liked the beard you were growing.” Steve mumbles tiredly when Bucky spoons him from behind a few minutes later. Bucky rubs his face against Steve’s back, and Steve squirms and gives a tired laugh. “Stop. Sleep.” He says, rolling over. Bucky grunts his agreement and slots himself neatly against Steve’s side, head pillowed on his chest.

“Tony told me how you two met.” Bucky confesses quietly. Steve makes a small humming sound deep in his throat. “It’s quite a story. You’re...you’re a good guy, you know? You’ve always been there for me when I needed you the most. And you’re there for complete strangers when they need you, too. You’ve really stepped up to the plate here, without even being asked to. I didn’t expect you to be interested in me when I came back, and yet you were...and not only that, but you wanted to meet Vanya. You didn’t treat her like luggage, or an unfortunate accessory of mine that you couldn’t get rid of. You wanted to get to know her, and you made an effort to include her in just about everything. I’ve always appreciated it, and you, but after hearing Tony’s story, I just...it made me realize how good I’ve got it - how good _Vanya_ has it, too. I never wanna let you go, pal. You’re gonna be mine forever, you hear me?” Bucky waits. He listens, and then lifts his head when he gets no response. “Steve?” Steve snores loudly, then blinks his eyes open suddenly.

“Hm?” Steve grunts. “What?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Nothing.” He laughs softly. “Go back to bed.” He doesn’t have to tell Steve twice - he’s out like a light in three seconds flat, leaving Bucky to study his features in the dark and think about all of the time that they’ve got together - time to live, and love, and laugh…time to watch Vanya turn grow up. He grins and puts his head down over Steve’s heart. He’ll tell Steve how much he means to him later - because now, thanks to Tony, there _will_ be a later peaceful enough for that conversation.

Bucky looks forward to his new forever.

**xxviii**

When the day of the UN meeting arrives, Bucky dresses for the occasion. It will (hopefully) be the very last time that he needs to step foot inside of the Assembly Hall and face the world, and he wants his last impression to be a good one. With Tony’s sense of fashion as a guide, Bucky had bought himself a suit. It’s black, the jacket worn over a red, checkered, shirt, and along with it he’s sporting a wine colored tie, sleek black shoes, and a black belt. His hair is newly trimmed and combed into place - he’s clean shaven and looking wide awake.

Behind him, Steve is dressed in a checkered gray suit with a black button up clearly visible underneath the jacket. There is no tie around his neck, though his brown shoes are new and reflect the lights in the room nicely when Bucky glances down at them.

Tony’s outfit is a bit louder, though still professional enough not to raise too many eyebrows. His slacks are gray, while his jacket is blue, and he’s sporting the ugliest tie that Bucky has ever seen. The floral print really stands out against his white shirt. And to really make things interesting, Tony is wearing sneakers. Very obviously well-worn sneakers. Bucky has to admire Tony’s confidence - no one seems willing to tear apart his outfit when Tony is walking around like he owns the entire world.

But by far, Bucky’s favorite outfit is Vanya’s. She had sat still long enough this morning for Bucky to braid her hair into a neat updo, and she even let him talk her into wearing a dress. It’s a billowy dress, pale green with a gold neckline, something that Natasha had gifted her some time ago that she now had an excuse to wear. Underneath, she’s wearing shorts, and she’s got a pair of silver dress shoes strapped onto her feet. Bucky thinks that she looks beautiful, and apparently so do a few of the Ambassadors, since they often peer over at her playing with the hemline of her dress and smile at her warmly.

Aleksander looks on longingly from his spot sitting besides Antonova. He waves at Vanya, once, and Vanya waves back, but they never get to speak and they definitely aren’t allowed to visit with each other. Bucky would have a fit if Aleksander got anywhere _near_ his daughter, especially now after he’s found out so much about Lukin’s company. His stomach still churns uncomfortably whenever he looks at the man, but there’s a small voice at the back of his head assuring him that this is all going to come to an end today. He won’t have to face Aleksander, or the UN, again after today. This is it.

“America would like to begin today’s meeting with a new issue that further complicates the ongoing custody battle over Vanya Barnes.” Fury says, after the hearing is called to order. He doesn’t let Antonova lead the meeting at all, which doesn’t sit well with her if her frown is anything to go by. Lukin also looks annoyed, though boredom seems to be the main ingredient in his expression. “There have been questions throughout the years concerning Roxxon Oil Corporation, have there not, Mr. Lukin?”

“There are always questions.” Lukin drawls, as if it’s a chore to answer questions. “About not only Roxxon Oil, but its competitors as well. In recent years, employee benefits and morale have increased, and any position at my company is more coveted by the average hard-working Russian citizen than any other oil company in Russia.” His eyes flick over to Bucky as he says, “Which is why it is such a shame that James has refused my offer to supply him with a job as a supervisor.”

“The room knows why Mr. Barnes declined your offer, Mr. Lukin. He wants to stay in America, with his daughter, where they can both pursue happiness. My question wasn’t in regards to your company’s employee benefits, or their morale. My question was directed at your revenue.”

Lukin raises one eyebrow. “You want to discuss money, at a meeting where I should be discussing my Granddaughter’s rightful home?”

“Your Granddaughter’s rightful home is with her Father - the man who sacrificed everything to give her a better life in a country where she can freely live, love, and prosper. Your Granddaughter’s rightful home is in Brooklyn, New York, Mr. Lukin, where she has started the process to becoming a US Citizen, where she practices ballet, where she will attend school, and where she will celebrate her birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and any other holiday or special occasion that happens to be on the calendar.” Fury motions for Tony to hand him his papers - Tony slides them across the desk rather gleefully. “Your Granddaughter’s rightful home, Mr. Lukin, no matter the country, is with her Father. Not with you.”

Lukin’s eyes are round, and his face is red. Bucky tries his best not to smirk, especially when Lukin turns his furious gaze on him, for the briefest of moments. “I love my Granddaughter.” Lukin says, angrily. “I want nothing but the best for her, which is why I want to have her back in Russia, where she truly belongs. She is a citizen of the Russian Federation, and she belongs with me, so that I can properly care for her, and provide for her.”

“You will provide for her using the money that you earn by owning and operating Roxxon Oil Corporation.” Fury states, flipping through the papers in front of himself.

“Naturally. I don’t see what my company has to do with - “

“Your numbers, Mr. Lukin, do not make any sense.” Fury narrows his eye at Lukin, and taps his knuckles against the folder on the desk.

There is a delightful silence from Lukin before Antonova speaks up. “This is meant to be a discussion of whether or not Mr. Lukin’s Granddaughter is in a stable enough environment, currently. America should not be allowed to change the topic of a debate simply because they have no new arguments to make.”

“If the Russian Federation would allow America to finish.” Adam Otto says severely, shooting an annoyed glance at Antonova. Antonova frowns, but says nothing while Fury gathers the papers back up, and hands them over to Tony.

“Right.” Tony says. He clears his throat as his voice echoes all around the room as he speaks into the microphone. “I have here estimated revenue for Aleksander Lukin’s company - “

“Who are you?” Antonova asks, point blank. Tony pauses.

“Anthony Stark.” He says, derailed.

“Heir to Howard Stark’s Stark Industries.”

“That’s me.”

Lukin frowns. “I fail to see why this man is here. He designs cell phones. Not only does he have nothing at all to do with the oil industry, he has no relation to the case involving my Granddaughter.”

“No, and no.” Tony speaks, not waiting for Fury to explain for him. “But, along with my engineering degrees, I also have a few in mathematics. I know numbers. I know numbers well enough to say for certain that _yours_ don’t make any sense.” He takes the papers away from Fury with one clean swipe, then begins to rattle off oil prices, and revenue, and everything else that Bucky can’t be bothered to try and comprehend. Tony explains Roxxon’s history, just as he had done for Bucky and Steve two nights ago. He compares prices to Russia’s other leading oil companies, and when he’s finished setting the trap for the big surprise, Lukin is fuming.

“This has _nothing_ to do with my Granddaughter!” He snaps, furious.

Antonova shakes her head. “This is not a meeting designed to discuss Mr. Lukin’s company. If America is not willing to take this custody case seriously - “

“This is all very much related to the Barnes vs. Lukin custody battle.” Tony interrupts, and waves his hand for Antonova and Lukin both to calm down. Fury frowns at that, so Bucky guesses that it must seem sort of rude. “It has everything to do with the case, actually. We’re discussing the income of the man who wants to yank a four-year-old child out of her Father’s arms and drag her off to another country.”

“A country that she is legally a citizen of, Mr. Stark.” Antonova fumes.

“A country that she was in the process of emancipating herself from.” Tony counters. “Now, if I can continue - “

“That is _enough_ \- “

“If Russia would allow - “

“Is the nation of France saying that this is appropriate behavior for a custody hearing?”

“The nation of France is suggesting that the Russian Federation should listen to what Mr. Stark has to say. It is in regards to how Mr. Lukin will provide for his Granddaughter should he gain custody over her, and should be taken seriously.” Toussaint lifts both eyebrows, challengingly. A moment passes in silence, Antonova contemplating her next move no doubt, before Toussaint gestures for Tony to resume his speech.

“Great. Thanks, France. Okay, as I was saying…” Tony is very animated when he speaks, and Bucky watches him with interest. Tony has to very carefully explain how he managed to piece together all of his information, so as not to make it seem like he had sent people into Russia to investigate Roxxon Oil. An accusation of espionage would only make this look bad, quickly. Tony tells a few white lies here and there while also staying true to the facts: he has proof of traces of nitrocellulose base powders being found in crates that Roxxon Oil ships in, though he never names his sources, instead calling them ‘concerned citizens’ (citizens of what country, however, he doesn’t say). He has evidence that is very compelling when he explains the train routes, where Roxxon delivers, and how far away it is from where revolts begin days, sometimes _hours_ after a delivery. “Nitrocellulose compound is commonly used to make explosives.” Tony says. “It should be fairly simple to see why it shouldn’t mix with oil. So that begs the question: why was it found in the crates that Roxxon Oil uses to ship to other countries?”

Tony looks Lukin dead in the eye (just the way that he promised Bucky he would) and asks, “Do you have an answer for that, Aleksander?”

Lukin has been listening with a stern frown set in place. He looks a little pale, if Bucky is being honest, and it’s obvious that  he’s trying his best to keep his expression level and neutral. However, he takes a moment longer than necessary to answer the question, and when he does speak, it’s to deflect. “Are you suggesting that my company has a hand in the violence in...in Syria? Iran? Just because we deliver to these countries does not mean we have a hand in their wars.”

“So, is that a no?” Tony asks, clicking his tongue. “See, as far as I’m concerned, you want to take this little pipsqueak all the way back to Russia with you,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Vanya as she sits in Bucky’s lap, being held in a warm embrace, “and yet you won’t set the record straight about your company, first. These are all either very strange coincidences, or there’s some real trouble brewing at Roxxon Oil Corporation. The Russian government is very protective of its children. Or so I’ve heard. Tell me,” Tony addresses Antonova. “don’t you want to know the full story before you hand over a little girl to this man?”

Antonova looks absolutely _livid._ However, she isn’t aiming her death glare at Bucky, or Tony, or even Steve - she’s zeroed in on Lukin, and she looks like she might murder him with the bat of her eyelashes. “Of course Russia would like to look further into this new development.” She says through her teeth.

“This is ridiculous.” Lukin snaps. He looks a little panicked now - just in his eyes, when Bucky watches him. “There is no illegal activity being conducted from Roxxon Oil.”

“Then the investigation shouldn’t worry you too much.” Tony shrugs. “As far as I see things, you either knew about the nitrocellulose compound in your crates, or you’re not competent enough to know when someone is using your rail system to smuggle weapons into other countries. Either way, that doesn’t sound like the kind of man I would want raising a child this cute.” Again, Tony jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Vanya.

Fury folds his hands over one another and raises one eyebrow, calmly. “Was Russia aware of these findings before Mr. Stark brought them to the rest of the world’s attention?”

Antonova lifted her chin. “Absolutely not. The Russian Federation would not condone such crimes, should they be proven true.”

“So does the Russian Federation agree that, regardless of whether or not he possessed knowledge of the arms trafficking being run along his company’s rail systems, Aleksander Lukin should _not_ have custody of his Granddaughter?” Otto looks at Antonova as he asks this, and cocks his head to the side, feigning curiosity. He knows Antonova’s answer, and he’s being smug about it.

Antonova looks besides herself at Lukin again - and now he looks totally devastated, eyes wide and mouth agape - and then turns to address Otto once more. She leans forward onto her elbows, gets in close to the microphone, and says: “Regardless of Mr. Lukin’s knowledge, or lack thereof, of any illegal activities being hosted by his company, the Russian Federation will agree with Germany: Aleksander Lukin should not have the right to custody of his Granddaughter.”

There’s a weight suddenly lifted from the room. Various Ambassadors are speaking all at once, and Tony is saying something across the desk to Bucky, but Bucky doesn’t hear any of it. He’s too numb with shock to react at first, and it isn’t until Steve grabs his hand that he snaps out of his daze. “What?” Bucky croaks.

“We did it.” Steve says, softly. His smile is so wide it looks like it hurts. He’s rubbing Vanya’s back now too, and she’s grinning at him even though she has no idea what’s going on. “Vanya is staying with us. With _you,_ Buck. You did it!”

“I…” Bucky chokes. He feels his eyes stinging, and his throat closes up on him before he can force any more words out. He coughs out a grateful exclamation - to whom, he isn’t sure - and hugs Vanya against his chest firmly, burying his nose into her braided hair. “ _Oh thank God._ ” He says in Russian. “ _Oh thank God - Vanya, sweetheart, oh thank God -_ “

“Papa?” Vanya murmurs, confused, but delighted by all of the attention she’s suddenly being showered in. “Papa, I’m hungry.” She tells him plainly, in English.

“We’ll get you anything you want.” Steve promises, since Bucky is too busy trying not to break down and cry right in the middle of the Assembly Hall. “Anything. You want pancakes? We can go get pancakes. Okay, Vanya? Anything you want, as soon as we’re out of here.”

“The Russian Federation will complete a full investigation of Roxxon Oil Corporation.” Antonova is saying, tying up any loose ends. “And will allow Mr. Barnes’ daughter to complete her US Citizenship without further dilemma.”

“No, but…” Lukin says. He stands up suddenly, and when Bucky forces himself to look up at him, he sees that Lukin’s face is wet with tears, even though his expression is twisted in anger. “You can’t keep her from me. You can’t, James. This isn’t - I have done nothing wrong! You can’t keep Vanya from me, I’m her Grandfather.”

Bucky doesn’t want to yell back. He doesn’t want to make a scene, or shout because, for once, he isn’t the one losing his temper. Antonova is already having trouble trying to make Aleksander sit down. “You were going to keep her from me.” Bucky says calmly, instead of shouting. “And I’m her Father.” He shakes his head at Aleksander’s red face and pained expression. “You had a place in her life, once. But I can promise you that after what you’ve put my family through, that place no longer exists.”

The pained noise that Aleksander makes, combined with his numerous attempts to shake off Antonova’s hand on his arm, is enough for the guards to be called into action. Sam and Riley take Lukin by either one of his arms and physically remove him from behind the desk, walking him out of the Assembly Hall. The entire way, Lukin is calling for Vanya, shouting her name, telling her he loves her, and Bucky has to cover Vanya’s ears because she has no idea what’s going on, or why, and so she starts to cry.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Bucky soothes her, rocking back and forth and speaking in low tones as the meeting comes to a rather dramatic close at long last. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here. Steve and I - we’re here, okay? Don’t cry, sweetheart. We aren’t going anywhere.”

 

**xxiv**

The bakery erupts into joyous cheers and whoops. Someone even whistles obnoxiously loud somewhere behind Bucky’s head.

“Fucking called it!” Tony shouts at the top of his lungs, and very nearly falls off of the table he’s standing on with the force of his shout. Phil puts a steadying hand on his leg and helps him to balance again, and Tony lets out another roar of triumph.

“Hey, shut up!” Steve calls out, though he’s laughing. “You’re freaking Vanya out! Plus, I can’t hear the TV!” Steve ducks down and scoops Vanya up from the floor, and she goes with him easily, wrapping her arms and legs around him and clinging like a monkey. She sniffles into his shoulder a little, and Bucky reaches over to calm her down with gently rubs to the back. “Hey, easy does it, Doll.” Steve murmurs, and gently kisses Vanya’s forehead. “It’s okay. Everyone is just really, really, happy.”

Vanya lifts her head and looks at Steve, then Bucky. “Happy?” She repeats.

“Very happy.” Bucky promises, and kisses the other side of her head. “It’s okay. I promise. Hey, you wanna get some more cookies?” He gets a tiny smile in response and laughs, taking Vanya out of Steve’s arms. “Let’s go get more cookies, then.” He kisses Steve before he leaves his side, though, and they’re both grinning rather stupidly at one another.

It’s been a month since Aleksander Lukin had been put under investigation following the last meeting at the UN. Clint’s bakery was technically not open to the public, but he was hosting a very unique celebration: the ten o'clock news, where the news anchor had just announced to America that Aleksander Lukin was found to be guilty of smuggling weapons into multiple countries, fueling their individual wars and uprisings. He was arrested and is to be tried in Moscow later in the year.

Nearly everyone was invited to the celebration. Clint and Natasha are hosting, naturally, and Steve and Bucky are there with Vanya. Matt Murdock and Phil Coulson dropped by at the last minute, just in time to hear the news, and Tony has pretty much funded the whole thing, paying for the various cakes and cookies that Clint had made as well as reserving the restaurant for the night. Nick Fury is off to the corner of the bakery with Sam and Riley, drinking milk (since it’s a no-booze allowed kind of celebration, as instructed by Tony) out of a plastic cup. There are some people there that Bucky doesn’t recognize until he’s introduced. Like Dr. Bruce banner, and Captain James Rhodes. There’s also Pepper Potts and her husband Harold “Happy” Hogan, Maria Hill, Major Carol Danvers, and a few other people invited by Tony- people he calls his friends and who regard him with the same amount of affectionate annoyance that Steve and Bucky do.

There are some friends that Steve and Bucky invited as well, of course, and somehow the quiet celebration that they were supposed to have has turned into a bonafide party. It wasn’t so bad, really. No one was getting obnoxiously drunk, and Vanya was very obviously the star. People continuously congratulated Bucky and Steve, congratulated Vanya (who had no idea why she was being commended but didn’t seem to care), and toasted to their happiness.

Natasha was behind the counter when Bucky walked over to get Vanya another cookie from the various platters set up. She grins and leans over to kiss Bucky warmly on his cheek, and then does the same for Vanya. “I’m very happy for you, James.” She says as she pulls away.

Bucky grins. “Yeah, I am too.” He confesses. Vanya points at a sugar cookie with M&Ms baked into it and Bucky sighs and hands it to her. She’s learning to love much more sugary foods than he’s used to, thanks to Steve. But tonight is a celebration, so Bucky doesn’t mind. As long as he can still get her to brush her teeth by bedtime, anyway. Setting Vanya down, Bucky watches her scamper off and makes sure that she makes it into Steve’s arms before he turns back to his conversation with Natasha. He hasn’t see her - really seen her - in months. He’s been looking forward to catching up with her. “So, I inadvertently helped stop World War Three from happening. What have you been up to?” He asks, smirking.

Natasha rolls her eyes and snorts. “Way to one-up me, James.” She says. She picks up a knife and begins to cut a slice out of one of Clint’s chocolate cream pies, already licking her lips as she anticipates the taste. “I haven’t been up to much. The usual routine: work, house cleaning, babysitting, helping Clint around the bakery.” She shrugs. “I do have news, though. Something that’s going to really shake things up around here.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” He asks. He takes the knife from Natasha when she’s done, and starts to cut a slice of the chocolate cream pie for himself. “What’s your news?”

Natasha grins. She crooks a finger, and Bucky obediently leans in close to hear her as she whispers in his ear: “I’m pregnant.”

“Shut up.” Bucky leans back, eyes wide.

Natasha smiles, small and warm. “I am.” She says.

“Holy shit. That’s great news!” Bucky laughs, his head automatically whipping around to find Clint, lost somewhere in the crowd of friends. “Where’s Clint? I gotta shake his hand or - “

“You will do no such thing, James Barnes.” Natasha says with a chuckle. “I haven’t told him yet.”

“Natasha, oh my God. Why not?” Bucky asks in surprise. “You guys have wanted a kid forever. He’ll be so excited!”

“I was waiting for the right time.” Natasha shrugs. “And I think it’s here. Your win was such big news, and Clint and I are so happy for you. If I tell him now, he’ll be on cloud nine.” She smiles, takes a bite out of her slice of pie, and savors it before she swallows and speaks again. “I’m going to hide a loaf of bread in the oven.” She confides. “That way, when Clint opens the door to slide a batch of cookies in, or something, he’ll have no choice but to wonder why there’s a bun in the oven. Then...surprise.” She wiggled her fingers at her stomach, as if it were a prize on display.

Bucky snots out a laugh and grins. “That’s a pretty neat idea.” He admits. “Okay, he’ll really dig that. Waiting was a good idea.” They take a few bites of their pieces of pie before Bucky remembers to ask: “How far along are you?”

“Mm...two and a half months, I think.” Natasha says after some thought.

Bucky blinks in surprise. “Oh, wow... Hey, how come you didn’t tell _me_ until now?”

Natasha looks a little sad for a moment, and then smiles gently. “Because I didn’t want to make it seem like I wasn’t completely interested in seeing you win custody over Vanya. I decided that I was going to wait to tell you, like Clint, as soon as everything got better.”

“You were so sure that everything was going to get better?” Bucky can’t help but ask.

“Unlike you, James, I had a lot more faith in your side of the argument. Even when things got rough.”

Bucky sighs, looking at Natasha - _really_ looking at her. She’s glowing. “Thanks, Nat.” He says, very softly, and she mouths back ‘you’re welcome’.

“Hey, Bucky!” Steve calls out suddenly, and Bucky turns to look at him. Steve is still holding Vanya in his arms, but he’s motioning for Bucky to come over and join him. Bucky nods his head, then briefly looks back at Natasha.

“I’ll be back.” He excuses himself. Wandering over to where Steve is standing, Bucky lifts an eyebrow in question. “What’s up?”

Steve smiles. “Well, Howard Stark wanted to meet you.” He says, and Bucky doesn’t think that he was ever going to be prepared enough to hear those words.

“What?” Bucky asks. Steve points, and Bucky turns his head to look. Sure enough, there’s Howard Stark, standing in the corner of the room speaking in low tones with Tony. The resemblance between the two Starks is insane; if not for Howard’s graying hair and scattering of wrinkles over his face, Bucky might mistake them for brothers instead of Father and son.

Tony is smiling at something that Howard is saying, and Howard soon enough pulls Tony under his arm for a hug. Bucky doesn’t doubt that Howard is ridiculously proud of his son - Tony is the entire reason that Vanya is here in Steve’s arms, and Tony is also the reason that the violence in Syria is beginning to dwindle. Tony is just twenty-four, but it’s an accomplished twenty-four, and Howard seems to be praising him for it. Bucky would hate to interrupt - luckily, Tony spots him and waves him over excitedly before Bucky can even think of doing such a thing. “Barnes!’ Tony shouts. “Come meet my Dad!”

The bakery is a little bit crowded that night, and the accidental party goes on for quite a while. Bucky meets Howard Stark and mingles for a while, then he wanders over to talk to Matt and Phil, and soon enough someone is turning off the news in favor of turning on some music, and the night is lost to dancing and laughing, and so much sugar that Bucky’s teeth begin to hurt.

Bucky and Steve stay late with Clint and Natasha, helping them to clean up while Vanya sleeps at one of the booths, all bundled up in Steve and Bucky’s jackets. Afterwards, they carry her to the car and drive home. They tuck her into bed together, making sure that Sprinkles the Penguin stays tucked in close underneath her arm, and then, hand in hand, Bucky and Steve make their way down the hall, to their room, to sleep. The night is young, some would say, but both are exhausted enough that neither suggests staying up any later.

“We’ve got time for foolin’ around any other night of the week.” Bucky says to Steve as their kisses begin to slow down as their eyes get heavier and heavier.

“Yeah.” Steve says, and gives a big yawn, right in Bucky’s face. Bucky can smell chocolate on his breath, and he smiles tiredly.

“You’re gonna get cavities.” Bucky chides.

“You’ll still love me, even if I need dentures.” Steve replies rather confidently.

He’s not wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Epilogue**

**Brooklyn, New York**

**10 years later**

“Goddamit Steve, we’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming! Hang on, I’m just looking for my jacket!”

“It’s here in my arms, you dork! I walked right past you with it!”

“What? I never saw you!” Steve’s voice is getting a lot closer now, finally.

“Yeah, big surprise.” Bucky murmurs.

“What?”

“Hm?” He blinks innocently as Steve frowns and takes his jacket out of Bucky’s arms. Bucky gives him a bright smile despite the sour expression. “Aw, come on, Steve. Cheer up. It’s the big day.”

Steve shrugs his shoulder, but he can’t pretend that he isn’t excited. Bucky could read it on his face from space, probably. “A whole year.” Steve sighs. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can.” Bucky chuckles. “I told you that your comic would be a hit the minute it was picked up. And now look: a whole year later and _Captain America_ is the hottest name in comics. And of course, the movie announcement…”

“Stop, I know.” Steve says, his smile looking like it might just break his face. “I’m so excited. I can’t wait… I’m just glad that they’re doing the _Nomad_ storyline.”

Bucky grins. “Yeah? Same here. It’s much better than _The Winter Soldier._ How come the character that you based off of Vanya is cooler than the one you based off of me?”

“What? The Winter Soldier is totally cool!” Steve protests. “Nomad just happens to be a little cooler. That’s all.”

Bucky shoves Steve in the shoulder. “It’s that stupid metal arm and the red star. Of all things to copy off of real life, it had to be my dumb commie tattoo, didn’t it?”

“Yep.” Steve leans in for a kiss and Bucky gives him one, even if he’s pretending to hate Sebastian - _The Winter Soldier_ \- from Steve’s comic books. “All right. I’ve got my jacket...I guess we’re ready. Where’s Vanya?”

“Same place.” Bucky shrugs, and nods his head at the couch.

Sprawled out on the couch, face hidden behind her newest Stark Phone, is Vanya. She’s in a nice pair of black jeans and has a blue sweater on to keep her warm in the chill of November. Her boots knock together as she absently swings her feet from side to side, but other than that, she doesn’t move from her spot. Bucky looks around the back cover of her phone (which is covered in stickers of penguins already, she’s had the phone for about a week, what the hell) and tries to get a good look at her face. Her blue eyes are staring at the screen on her phone very intently and her thumbs are practically dancing over the touch screen as she texts, or tweets, or tumbles, Bucky has no idea.

“Vanya.” He calls. “Vanya, let’s go, come on, your Dad’s party is gonna start soon.” He kicks her boot gently with his own.

“She’s still absorbed with that thing?” Steve wonders, raising an eyebrow when Vanya’s leg falls off the side of the couch, and yet she doesn’t stir.

“Of course. Remind me to tell Tony - again - that she isn’t his guinea pig. Every time he send her a phone to test out, she becomes a zombie.” Sighing again, Bucky walks over to the couch, where Vanya’s head is rest on the arm, and covers her eyes.

“Hey! Papa!” Vanya yelps, and giggles while she swats at his hand. “Stop! I heard you, I’m coming!”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Bucky huffs, and pulls his hand back. “Come on. Natasha, Clint, and Aliana are already there.”

“Ali’s there already?” Vanya wonders, and sits up immediately. “All right, let me just go grab my jacket. I’ll be two seconds.” She bolts down the hallway before Bucky can stop her and remind her that he has _her_ jacket, too.

“Don’t make that face.” Steve laughs when Bucky sticks his tongue out at Vanya’s retreating back. “She’s fourteen.”

“Don’t remind me. She grew up too fast.” Bucky sighs. He smiles and shakes his head. “Seems like just yesterday she was eating raw onions, or sticking her hand in the mayonnaise jar.”

“Well, she still keeps her lotion in the fridge.” Steve shrugs. “I think that’s from the mayonnaise incident, actually.”

Bucky shakes his head and approaches Steve again. “Your tie is crooked, Cap.” He teases. His fingers slip underneath the knot Steve had made of his tie, and he proceeds to straighten it for him.

“What would I do without you?” Steve wonders with a laugh.

“Go out looking like a dumb ass who can’t tie his tie.” Bucky responds, and gets a swat on his thigh for it. Steve smiles and shakes his head, but keeps his chin held up high so that Bucky can easily work on fixing his tie and collar. Bucky watches him carefully, his eyes tracing over Steve’s adam’s apple, the freckles scattered over his neck and hidden just beneath his eyes. He’s mesmerized by Steve’s smile, and the brightness of his blue eyes, even after all these years, and Bucky feels his heart warming right in his chest.

Suddenly, the weight in his left pocket feels way too heavy. He can’t prolong it any more.

“We should get married.” Bucky whispers, patting Steve’s chest to let him know that he’s finished fixing his suit.

Steve looks down at him and blinks in surprise at the words Bucky had just spoken. “Married?” Steve repeats.

Bucky nods. “You know. Make it official.” He shrugs, then rummages around in his pocket for the little black box with two matching rings inside. He hands it to Steve without opening it, wanting to see his reaction to the diamond’s embedded in the otherwise plain silver bands. “You’re obviously not going anywhere, and neither am I, so we could...we could get married.”

Steve’s breath catches as he plucks one of the rings out of the box and turns it over in his hand. Bucky is afraid that he doesn’t like it, until Steve smiles and gently rubs his thumb over the band affectionately. “You finally want me to make an honest man out of you?” Steve wonders, and Bucky laughs.

“Whatever I have to say to make you agree to it.” Bucky says honestly, and shrugs.

Steve considers him a moment, then takes the smaller ring out of the box and motions for Bucky to give him his hand. When Bucky does, Steve slips the ring onto Bucky’s left ring finger with no difficulty at all. Then he hands Bucky the box and holds out his left hand, and Bucky’s fingers only shake a little as he slips Steve’s ring into place.

“You know I’m with you til’ the end.” Steve says, tossing the empty box onto the couch so that he can put his arms around Bucky’s waist instead. “My answer is always going to be yes.” He lowers his head and Bucky meets him halfway for the kiss, savoring the warmth of Steve’s arms around him and the familiar heat of Steve’s lips on his own, and the new sensation of a ring around his finger, reminding him that Steve had put it there, they’re getting _married_ -

“ _Finally._ ” Vanya’s voice suddenly cuts into Bucky’s thoughts, and he and Steve part just a bit in order to look at her as she stands in the doorway of the living room. She’s grinning, eyes bright and happy as they flicker down to Bucky’s left hand as it rests on Steve’s shoulder. “Can I tweet this?” She asks, holding up her phone for a picture, and Bucky groans.

“No,” Bucky says at the same time Steve says “Sure,” and they squint at one another for a moment. Eventually Bucky sighs, shakes his head, and nods at Vanya. “Go ahead.” He concedes.

“Perfect.” Vanya praises as she snaps their picture. She shows them the shot before she posts it - they’re both standing with their arms wrapped around one another, smiling at the camera, and each man is showing off his ring finger behind the other’s back. It’s a lovely picture - Bucky might actually want it printed and framed for his growing collection on the living room bookcase. “Uncle Tony’s gonna love that one.” Vanya chuckles, and begins to tap away at her phone while Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Let’s go, Vanya. Put your jacket on. Coney Island is cold at night, and I don’t want you getting sick, you know how easily you and your Dad catch colds...” He chides, pulling away from Steve in order to get his fourteen-year-old into her jacket before they step outside.

Bucky can’t stop staring at the ring - at where it’s finally resting on his finger. He also finds himself staring at Steve’s hand, and watching the way the diamond reflects the light as he gestures Vanya out of the house and into the chilly November evening.

Bucky watches them rush to the car and wonders if they know he has the keys. Chuckling to himself, he locks up the house and strolls after his family, anxious to celebrate another amazing year and more than ready to start planning for the many, many, more that lay ahead.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> [Buy Me a Coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/A5661HA)


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